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THE STORY TELLER'S 
BOOK 



THE STORY TELLER'S 
BOOK 



By 

Alice O' Grady, of the Kindergarten Department, 

Teachers' College, and Frances Throop, 

of the Pickard School, Chicago, 

Illinois 



RAND McNALLY & COMPANY 
CHICAGO NEW YORK 



Copyright, 1912, by 
RAND, McNALLY & COMPANY 



CHICAGO AND NEW YORK 



ga.A3l299l 



INTRODUCTION 

The study of stories for children during the past few 
years has resulted in the production of many excellent 
books of tales, both single and in such series as the 
"Fairy Ring" and " Magic Casements," and the various 
"Tree" books by Clifton Johnson. 

Money to own a library of these source books, 
however, and time to select from the many volumes 
the few desired stories, are seldom available, and as yet 
there has been published no book collecting only the 
simpler old tales, providing a story teller's book for 
home and school. 

The need of such a collection has been felt by the 
editors, and in this little volume they have endeav- 
ored to supply it. Here the busy mother and the 
teacher with the limited exchequer may find gathered 
in one collection a simple and selected group of stories. 
These stories, the beginnings of narrative to follow the 
nursery rhyme, have been taken from many sources, 
and are intended to supply literature for children from 
three to seven years of age. 

Therefore the first stories in the book are short and 
often interspersed with verse. Then come the simpler 
folk tales and, last of all, stories that are longer and 
contain more detail and more experience. These should 
be followed by the fairy tale, which belongs to children 
of a larger growth. 

In several instances two versions of a folk tale have 



INTRODUCTION 



been given, both versions being in current use. But in 
every case the first given is considered the better one. 

The editors hope that the stories will be told rather 
than read, at least in the kindergarten and school. 
For with little children, especially, the love of story 
must be communicated by the minnesinger, to the eye 
as well as to the ear. The story teller should be an 
artist in interpretation, presenting the story in the 
most simple and natural manner. The listeners must 
be charmed with ballad and tale. Incident and char- 
acter must live again by the magic of the living voice. 
Since the form of the story contributes a large part of 
its literary value, it is best to learn the story as it is 
written, as we learn music for an instrument, then to 
interpret it as we understand it. 

The function of literature is not directly to inform 
or to instruct, but to delight and to cultivate through 
the actual experiences of pure, wholesome joy; there- 
fore the story teller's real teaching lies in the uncon- 
scious sense of meaning, humor, content, and above 
all beauty, which he awakens. 

A word must be said for the choice of certain of 
the rhymes and stories in the book. Wholesome 
humor is as valuable for little children as for grown 
people, but we grown-ups do not always understand the 
humor of a child's tale. Indeed, we are so desirous 
for his moral nurture that we are in danger of making 
too much of the goody-goody in what is provided. 

" The Robber Kitten," "The Wandering Musicians," 
and the story of Chicken Licken are distinctly humorous, 



INTRODUCTION 



and must not be taken seriously. The element of 
humor is of course in many of the other tales, but 
these are essentially humorous in character and should 
be appreciated as such by the story teller. They are 
a species of drolls, and of literary and moral value. 
Some of the books from which stories were taken con- 
tain other stories which a mother would be glad to use. 
Among these are "Prince Dimple and his E very-day 
Doings" and "Prince Dimple and his Further Doings," 
by Mrs. Paull; the "Arabella and Araminta" stories, 
by Gertrude Smith; "Mother Stories," by Maud 
Lindsay; "For the Children's Hour," by Bailey and 
Lewis ; "Child Life in Prose," by Whittier ; "Folk Stories 
and Fables," by James Baldwin; "Classic Stories for 
the Little Ones," by Lida Brown McMurry; "English 
Fairy Tales," by Joseph Jacobs; and "Cossack Fairy 
Tales," by R. Nesbit Bain. 



THE TABLE OF CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Christmas Eve 1 1 

Christmas Morning 13 

The Christmas Tree 15 

The "Wake-Up" Story 17 

The "Go-Sleep" Story 20 

The Sleepy Song 22 

Soap-bubble Story 24 

Sleepy-time Story 27 

Christmas Story 33 

The Birthday Party 41 

Five Little Brothers 48 

The Cat and the Mouse ....... 49 

The Robber Kitten 51 

The Three Billy Goats Gruff 53 

The Little Red Hen 55 

The Little Red Hen and the Grain of Wheat. . 57 

The Old Woman and her Pig 59 

The Little Gray Pony 65 

The Wind's Work 70 

Chicken Licken 75 

The Old Woman who lived in a Vinegar Bottle . 78 

Johnny and the Three Goats 83 

Johnny-Cake 86 

Titty Mouse and Tatty Mouse 91 

The Story of the Three Bears 95 

Golden Hair and the Three Bears 100 

9 



io THE TABLE OF CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The Three Little Pigs 105 

The Story of the Three Little Pigs .... no 

The Sheep and the Pig that built the House . . 115 

Drakesbill 119 

Mr. Miacca 127 

The Street Musicians 130 

The Big Red Apple 137 

The Magpie's Nest 143 

The Hop-about Man 145 

A Good Thanksgiving 157 

Praise God 159 

Anders' New Cap 159 

Who stole the Bird's Nest? 165 

The Straw Ox 169 

Nursery Song 176 

The Stars in the Sky 178 

The Fairies of Caldon Low 183 

Mabel on Midsummer Day 188 

Oeyvind and Marit 198 

The Fairies 209 

The Half-Chick 212 

The Discontented Tree 218 

The Three Little Christmas Trees that grew on the 

Hill 221 

The Snow Bird's Song 223 

The Night before Christmas 225 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

CHRISTMAS EVE 1 

Prince Dimple was a very little fellow, 
for he had never seen Christmas. He could 
only talk in his funny baby way, which 
no one understood except his two dolls, 
Jack the Harlequin, in his pink and green 
suit with the little bells on it, and Squeaky 
Sam, who was made of rubber, with a whistle 
inside of him which squeaked whenever you 
squeezed him. 

"Christmas is coming. I heard mother 
say so," Prince Dimple told Jack the Harle- 
quin one day. "Do you know what Christ- 
mas is?" 

No, Jack did not know, and Squeaky Sam 
did not know; but Christmas must certainly 
be very nice, for every one seemed to be glad 
that it was coming, and whenever mother 
talked to Prince Dimple about it she hugged 
and kissed him, as if it were something that 
had a great deal to do with him. 

"Santa Clausis coming to-night, and little 

This story, and the two following stories, were taken from "Prince Dimple and 
his Every-day Doings." By permission of George W. Jacobs 6* Co., publishers. 



12 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

Cousin Margaret has sent you a pretty stock- 
ing to hang up," said mother one evening 
when Prince Dimple was all ready for bed. 

Prince Dimple clapped his hands when 
mother showed him the stocking. It was 
the very prettiest stocking Prince Dimple 
had ever seen, and he wondered why mother 
did not get him such pretty stockings to 
wear, instead of little black silk ones. 

It was pink and blue, and little points 
hung from the top of the stocking with little 
gold bells on them, just like the bells on Jack 
the Harlequin. 

It had little pink and blue ribbons by which 
to hang it up, and it was big enough to hold 
a great many nice things. 

"See, we will hang it up by the fireplace, 
so that Santa Claus can find it and fill it 
with pretty things for Prince Dimple, " mother 
said. The little bells jingled and made sweet 
music as mother fastened it up beside the 
fireplace; and Prince Dimple wondered, as he 
went to sleep, how Santa Claus was coming 
and what he would bring. 

When Prince Dimple was sound asleep, 
and his little curly head was resting on his 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 13 

pillow in the bassinet, then you may be sure 
Santa Claus came, and filled the pretty little 
stocking to the very top. 

He had far too much to put it all into the 
stocking, and so he piled the rest of the pretty 
things he had brought beside the fireplace. 

Mrs. Paull. 

CHRISTMAS MORNING 

Prince Dimple had slept so soundly all night 
long that he had not heard Santa Claus 
come, and he had forgotten all about his 
pretty stocking. When he woke up in the 
morning he sat up and rubbed his eyes, and 
then he saw the stocking filled to the top, 
and the beautiful presents piled up beside 
the fireplace. 

"Oh! oh! oh!" he shouted; and he nearly 
jumped out of his bassinet, he was so eager 
to get over to the fireplace, and see all the 
wonderful things. 

Mother carried him over, and he was so 
delighted that he hardly knew what to look 
at first. 

There was a beautiful gray horse, with a 
red saddle, that he had to stop and kiss the 



14 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

very first thing, it was so pretty; and then 
he found another horse, with a rider on its 
back, who blew a trumpet whenever he was 
moved. 

There was a picture book full of monkeys, 
and Prince Dimple did love monkeys so 
much that he was very happy to have a 
whole book full of them. 

Everything Prince Dimple liked best was 
here. There was a box of big blocks that 
had all sorts of pictures on them, and were 
so light to lift that he could easily pick them 
up in his little hands, although they did look 
so big. 

There was the story of the Old Woman and 
her Pig, which mother had told Prince Dimple 
ever so many times, and now he could see 
all the pictures of the naughty pig that 
wouldn't go. 

After Prince Dimple had looked at all the 
pretty things that were piled up beside the 
fireplace mother gave him his stocking, and 
Prince Dimple shouted with delight as he 
took out the pretty things, one after another. 

I couldn't possibly tell you what they all 
w§re; and if you want to see them, you must 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 15 

come to Prince Dimple's nursery, and he 
will show them all to you himself. 

Mrs. Paull. 

THE CHRISTMAS TREE 

Prince Dimple knew now what Christ- 
mas was; and he was very glad it had come, 
since it had brought him so many nice 
things. 

He did not want to stop and get dressed, 
he was so busy playing with his new toys; 
but at last he stopped long enough to have 
his bath and eat his breakfast. 

Mother let him hold his new ball in his 
hand all the time he was getting dressed, and 
that helped him to be patient. 

Still more wonderful things were to happen, 
though. When Prince Dimple had eaten his 
breakfast mother took him in her arms and 
carried him downstairs; and papa opened the 
parlor door for them. 

Can you guess what the wonderful thing 
was that Prince Dimple saw? There was a 
beautiful tree, sparkling with tiny tapers, 
and covered with beautiful shining things, and 
soft, glittering snow. 



16 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

It was the most beautiful thing that little 
Prince Dimple had ever seen, and he was so 
surprised and so pleased that he did not say 
a single word. 

He never moved, but just sat still and looked 
at everything with his big blue eyes, without 
even a smile. 

It was so beautiful that he did not know 
what to do with himself. 

"What do you think of your Christmas 
tree, Prince Dimple? " asked papa at last. 

"Ah! ha!" shouted Prince Dimple, giving 
such a spring that he nearly jumped out of 
mother's arms, he was in such a hurry to go 
nearer to the wonderful tree. 

There was so much to see that Prince Dim- 
ple thought he would never get through look- 
ing at it; and he spent Christmas Day with 
his beautiful tree, and was almost too happy 
to eat. 

I will not tell you about the tree, because 
of course you had just such a pretty one 
yourself, and perhaps you have seen Christ- 
mas trees a great many times; but it was 
little Prince Dimple's first Christmas tree, 
you know, and so it was a very wonderful 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 17 

tree to him, and he thought it was the most 

beautiful tree in the world. 

Mrs. Paull. 

THE "WAKE-UP" STORY 

The sun was up and the breeze was blow- 
ing, and the five chicks and four geese and 
three rabbits and two kitties and one little 
dog were just as noisy and lively as they 
knew how to be. 

They were all watching for Baby Ray to 
appear at the window, but he was still fast 
asleep in his little white bed, while mamma 
was making ready the things he would need 
when he should wake up. 

First she went along the orchard path as 
far as the old wooden pump, and said: 
"Good Pump, will you give me some nice, 
clear water for the baby's bath?" 

And the pump was willing. 

The good old pump by the orchard path 
Gave nice, clear water for the baby's bath. 

Then she went a little farther on the path, 
and stopped at the wood pile, and said: 
"Good Chips, the pump has given me nice, 
clear water for dear little Ray; will you come 



18 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

and warm the water and cook his food?" 
And the chips were willing. 

The good old pump by the orchard path 
Gave nice, clear water for the baby's bath. 
And the clean, white chips from the pile of wood 
Were glad to warm it and to cook his food. 

So mamma went on till she came to the 
barn, and then said: "Good Cow, the pump 
has given me nice, clear water, and the wood 
pile has given me clean, white chips for dear 
little Ray ; will you give me warm, rich milk? " 

And the cow was willing. 

Then she said to the top-knot hen that was 
scratching in the straw: "Good Biddy, the 
pump has given me nice, clear water, and the 
wood pile has given me clean, white chips, 
and the cow has given me warm, rich milk 
for dear little Ray; will you give me a new- 
laid egg?" 

And the hen was willing. 

The good old pump by the orchard path 
Gave nice, clear water for the baby's bath. 
The clean, white chips from the pile of wood 
Were glad to warm it and to cook his food. 
The cow gave milk in the milk pail bright, 
And the top-knot Biddy an egg t new and white. 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 19 

Then mamma went on till she came to the 
orchard, and said to a Red June apple tree: 
"Good Tree, the pump has given me nice, 
clear water, and the wood pile has given 
me clean, white chips, and the cow has 
given me warm, rich milk, and the hen 
has given me a new-laid egg for dear little 
Ray; will you give me a pretty red apple?" 

And the tree was willing. 

So mamma took the apple and the egg and 
the milk and the chips and the water to the 
house, and there was Baby Ray in his night- 
gown, looking out of the window. 

And she kissed him and bathed him and 
dressed him, and while she brushed and curled 
his soft, brown hair, she told him the "Wake- 
Up" story that I am telling you: 

The good old pump by the orchard path 
Gave nice, clear water for the baby's bath; 
The clean, white chips from the pile of wood 
Were glad to warm it and to cook his food. 
The cow gave milk in the milk pail bright; 
The top-knot Biddy an egg t new and white ; 
And the tree gave an apple so round and so red, 
For dear little Ray. who was just out of bed. 

EUDORA BUMSTEAD. 



20 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

THE "GO-SLEEP" STORY 

"How can I go to bed," said Penny, the 
flossy dog, "till I say good night to Baby 
Ray? He gives me part of his bread and 
milk, and pats me with his little soft hand. 
It is bedtime now for dogs and babies. I 
wonder if he is asleep?" 

So he trotted along in his silky white 
nightgown till he found Baby Ray on the 
porch in mamma's arms. 

And she was telling him the same little 
story that I am telling you: 

"The doggie that was given him to keep, keep, keep, 
Went to see if Baby Ray was asleep, sleep, sleep." 

"How can we go to bed," said Snowdrop 
and Thistledown, the youngest children of 
Tabby, the cat, "till we have once more 
looked at Baby Ray? He lets us play with 
his blocks and ball, and laughs when we climb 
on the table. It is bedtime now for kitties 
and dogs and babies. Perhaps we shall find 
him asleep." And this is what the kitties 
heard: 

"One doggie that was given him to keep, keep, keep, 
Two cunning little kitty-cats, creep, creep, creep, 
Went to see if Baby Ray was asleep, sleep, sleep.' ' 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 21 

"How can we go to bed, " said the three 
little bunnies, "till we have seen Baby Ray?" 
Then away they went in their white velvet 
nightgowns as softly as three flakes of snow. 
And they, too, when they got as far as the 
porch, heard Ray's mamma telling the same 
little story: 

"One doggie that was given him to keep, keep, keep, 
Two cunning little kitty-cats, creep, creep, creep, 
Three pretty little bunnies with a leap, leap, leap, 
Went to see if Baby Ray was asleep, sleep, sleep.' * 

"How can we go to bed," said the four 
white geese, "till we know that Baby Ray 
is all right? He loves to watch us sail on 
the duck pond, and he brings us corn in his 
little blue apron. It is bedtime now for geese 
and rabbits and kitties and dogs and babies, 
and he really ought to be asleep. " 

So they waddled away in their white 
feather nightgowns, around by the porch, 
where they saw Baby Ray, and heard mamma 
tell the "Go-Sleep" story: 

"One doggie that was given him to keep, keep, keep, 
Two cunning little kitty-cats, creep, creep, creep, 
Three pretty little bunnies, with a leap, leap, leap, 
Four geese from the duck pond, deep, deep, deep, 
Went to see if Baby Ray was asleep, sleep, sleep." 



22 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

"How can we go to bed," said the five 
white chicks, "till we have seen Baby Ray 
once more? He scatters crumbs for us and 
calls us. Now it is bedtime for chicks and 
geese and rabbits and kitties and dogs 
and babies, so little Ray must be asleep." 

Then they ran and fluttered in their downy 
white nightgowns till they came to the porch, 
where little Ray was just closing his eyes, 
while mamma told the "Go-Sleep" story: 

"One doggie that was given him to keep, keep, 

keep, 
Two cunning little kitty-cats, creep, creep, creep, 
Three pretty little bunnies, with a leap, leap, leap, 
Four geese from the duck pond, deep, deep, deep, 
Five downy little chicks, crying, peep, peep, peep, 
All saw that Baby Ray was asleep, sleep, sleep." 

EUDORA BUMSTEAD. 

THE SLEEPY SONG 1 

As soon as the fire burns red and low 
And the house upstairs is still, 

She sings me a queer little sleepy song, 
Of sheep that go over the hill. 

1 From "Poems." By permission of the author. Copyright, 1903, by Chas. 
Scribner's Sons. 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 23 

The good little sheep run quick and soft, 
Their colors are gray and white; 

They follow their leader, nose and tail, 
For they must be home by night. 

And one slips over, and one comes next, 

And one runs after behind; 
The gray one's nose at the white one's tail, 

The top of the hill they find. 

And when they get to the top of the hill 

They quietly slip away, 
But one runs over and one comes next — 

Their colors are white and gray. 

And over they go, and over they go, 

And over the top of the hill 
The good little sheep run quick and soft, 

And the house upstairs is still. 

And one slips over and one comes next, 
The good little, gray little sheep! 

I watch how the fire burns red and low, 
And she says that I fall asleep. 

Josephine Daskam Bacon. 



24 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

SOAP-BUBBLE STORY 1 

THE DEAR DARLINGS PLAY A PRETTY 
RAINY-DAY PLAY 

Arabella and Araminta were two little 
sisters four years old. They lived in a white 
house on a green hill, and all day long they 
played together. 

And one day it rained while the sun was 
shining; the sun was shining while it rained. 

And Arabella looked out of the window, 
and said, "Oh, see, Araminta! see the sun 
in the rain!" 

And Araminta looked out of the window, 
and said, "Oh, see, Arabella! see the sun in 
the rain!" 

And Arabella clapped her hands, and said: 
"Oh, Araminta, see, see, see! There is a 
rainbow, a great big rainbow, shining in the 
sky!" 

And Araminta clapped her hands, and 
said: "Oh, Arabella, see, see, see! There 
is a rainbow, a great big rainbow, shining 
in the sky!" 

And their mother heard them, and she came 

1 From "Arabella and Araminta," by Gertrude Smith. Copyright, i8qj. 
Reprinted by permission of the publishers. Small, Maynard 6° Company, 
Incorporated. 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 25 

and looked out of the window, and she saw 
the rainbow, from way over there to way over 
there, shining in the sky. 

And Arabella said: "Oh, isn't it beauti- 
ful, beautiful? Just see the colors, mamma!" 

And Araminta said: "Oh, isn't it beauti- 
ful, beautiful? Just see the colors, mamma!" 

And their mother said: "Yes, dears, it 
is certainly beautiful. I will tell you what 
we will do: I will show you how you can 
make some little rainbows right here in your 
own house.' ' 

And Arabella said, "Why, mamma, how 
could you make little truly rainbows right 
here in our own house?" 

And Araminta said, "Why, mamma, how 
could you make little truly rainbows right 
here in our own house?" 

And their mother said, "Just wait and you 
will see." 

Then she went and found two pipes, two 
white clay pipes, and she got two bowls of 
water with some soapsuds in them. And she 
gave a pipe to Arabella, and a pipe to Ara- 
minta, and she showed them how to blow 
bubbles, how to blow soap-bubbles with some 



26 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

water and a pipe. And into the bubbles 
the colors came, — all the beautiful colors of 
the rainbow. 

And Arabella blew a bubble as large as a 
teacup, and Araminta blew a bubble as large 
as a little bowl! 

And Arabella screamed with joy, and said: 
"Oh, oh, oh! I do see a rainbow, a little 
truly rainbow in my bubble, mamma!" 

And Araminta screamed with joy, and said: 
"Oh, oh, oh! I do see a rainbow, a little 
truly rainbow in my bubble, mamma!" 

And their mother said: "Yes, yes, I see, 
dears; but look at your dresses, do, dears; 
they're as wet as wet as can be! You must 
go right and take them off." 

And oh, that mischief Arabella! and oh, 
that mischief Araminta! — what do you think 
they did? 

Why, they took their dresses off, and took 
off their little skirts, so nothing was upon 
them except their little shirts! 

And then they blew soap-bubbles, more 
and more soap-bubbles, with nothing else 
upon them except their little shirts! 

And their mother laughed, and said: "You 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 27 

precious little dears, I wish I had your pic- 
ture as you look just now." 

And Arabella danced about the room, and 
laughed and clapped her hands; and Ara- 
minta danced about the room, and laughed 
and laughed and clapped her hands. 

Without a bit of trouble Arabella blew 
a bubble; and she blew another bubble, and 
she blew another bubble, and she blew another 
bubble; without a bit of trouble she blew 
another bubble. 

And without a bit of trouble Araminta blew 
a bubble; and she blew another bubble, and 
she blew another bubble, and she blew another 
bubble; without a bit of trouble she blew 
another bubble. 

SLEEPY-TIME STORY 1 

WHEN BEDTIME CAME THEY WERE WIDE AWAKE, 
SO WERE THEIR TWO LITTLE KITTIES 

And one night Arabella's and Araminta's 
mamma was sewing, and their papa was 
reading his newspaper. And there was a fire 
in the grate, a warm bright fire in the grate. 

1 From "Arabella and Araminta" by Gertrude Smith. Copyright, 1895. 
Reprinted by permission of the publishers. Small, Maynard 6* Company, 
Incorporated. 



28 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

And Arabella sat on the rug before the fire, 
and Araminta sat on the rug before the 
fire. 

And Arabella was playing with her little 
white kitty, and Araminta was playing with 
her little black kitty. 

And Arabella's little white kitty's name 
was Annabel, and Araminta's little black 
kitty's name was Lillabel. 

Arabella had a little red ball fastened to 
a long string, and Araminta had a little blue 
ball fastened to a long string. Arabella 
would roll her ball, and her little white 
kitty would run and jump for it. And 
Araminta would roll her ball, and her little 
black kitty would run and jump for it. 

The kittens were so cunning and funny, 
and they were having such a splendid time! 

Sometimes when Arabella's kitty would 
run very fast, or jump very high, Arabella 
would laugh until she tumbled right over on 
the floor. 

And sometimes when Araminta' s kitty 
would run very fast, or jump very high, 
Araminta would laugh until she would tumble 
right over on the floor. 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 29 

Oh, they were having a splendid time! 

But all at once their mamma looked up 
from her sewing, and said: "Good night, 
Arabella. Good night, Araminta. The clock 
is on the stroke of eight." 

And their papa looked up from his paper, 
and said: "Yes, good night, Arabella. Good 
night, Araminta. The clock is on the stroke 
of eight." 

And Arabella said, "Oh, must we go to 
bed right now?" 

And Araminta said, "Oh, must we go to 
bed right now?" 

And their papa said: "Yes, indeed; yes, 
indeed. Good night, Arabella. Good night, 
Araminta. The clock is on the stroke of 
eight." 

Always, when it was bedtime, their papa 
and mamma would say: "Good night, Ara- 
bella. Good night, Araminta. " 

And sometimes they were good, and some- 
times they were bad; but they always ran 
away to bed. 

And their dear mamma always went with 
them and tucked them in and kissed them, 
then came away downstairs and left them. 



30 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

And sometimes they were good, and some- 
times they were bad; but they always went 
to sleep. 

But to-night their mamma said: 

"Run and get your nighties, dears, 
And get each a flannel gown, 
And we '11 sit and rock you here, 
Till you go to sleepy-town." 

And Arabella ran upstairs and got her 
nighty and her little flannel gown. And 
Araminta ran upstairs and got her nighty 
and her little flannel gown. And their 
mamma undressed Arabella, and their papa 
undressed Araminta. 

Arabella's little flannel gown was red, and 
Araminta's little flannel gown was pink. 
And when they had put them on over their 
nighties they were just as warm as toast. 

Arabella's kitty was playing with Ara- 
minta's kitty on the rug before the fire. 
They were rolling and tumbling and chasing 
each other, and they looked so cunning and 
sweet ! 

And Arabella's mamma took Arabella on 
her lap, and Araminta's papa took Araminta 
on his lap. 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 31 

Arabella said, "Oh, I want my kitty in my 
lap, mamma!" 

And Araminta said, "Oh, I want my 
kitty in my lap, papa!" 

So they jumped down and caught the 
kitties. 

Their mamma rocked Arabella, and their 
papa rocked Araminta; and they sang to 
them, — 

"Now a nice little rock, 
And never mind the clock, — 
Now a nice little rock, 
And never mind the clock! " 

And they sang it over, and over, and over, 
and over: 

"Now a nice little rock, 
And never mind the clock, — 
Now a nice little rock, 
And never mind the clock!" 

And Arabella cuddled in her mamma's 
arms, and hugged her little kitty close; and 
Araminta cuddled in her papa's arms, and 
hugged her little kitty close. 

And their mamma sang, and their papa 
sang,— 



32 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

"Now she goes to sleepy-town, sleepy-town, 

sleepy-town; 
Cuddled in her little gown, 
Here she goes to sleepy-town." 

And they sang it over, and over, and over: 

"Now she goes to sleepy-town, sleepy-town, 

sleepy-town; 
Cuddled in her little gown, 
Here she goes to sleepy-town." 

And very soon Arabella could only just 
hear her mamma singing, and very soon 
Araminta could only just hear her papa sing- 
ing, "sleepy-town, sleepy-town." And soon 
they couldn't hear them at all. They were 
sound asleep! 

And their mamma looked at their papa, 
and said, "Our precious little dears are both 
sound asleep." 

And their papa said, "Yes, our little pets 
have both reached sleepy-town." 

And Arabella's mamma carried her upstairs 
and put her in her little bed, and Araminta' s 
papa carried her upstairs and put her in her 
little bed. And Arabella was hugging her 
white kitty up close in her arms, and Ara- 
minta was hugging her black kitty up close 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 33 

in her arms. And the kitties were both sound 
asleep, too. 

But Araminta's kitty and Arabella's kitty 
did not sleep with them all night, — oh, no, 
indeed! They had a nice little, warm little, 
soft little bed down in the basement, close 
by the furnace. 

And their papa took the kitties out of 
their arms, and he carried them down to 
their bed. 

And Arabella slept, and slept, and slept, 
and slept, and slept. And Araminta slept, and 
slept, and slept, and slept, and slept. 

And the little kitties, in their soft little 
bed, slept, and slept, too. All through the 
long, dark, beautiful night they slept. 

And the sun came, and the morning came, 
and it was another day! 

CHRISTMAS STORY 1 

HERE COMES DEAR, GOOD OLD SANTA IN 
THE GOOD OLD-FASHIONED WAY 

It was winter, and cold, very cold, — boo! 
boo! — very cold! It made you shiver and 

1 From "Arabella and Araminta," by Gertrude Smith. Copyright, 1895. 
Reprinted by permission of the publishers. Small, Maynard 6* Company, 
Incorporated. 
3 



34 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

shake to step out of doors, just shiver and 
shake to step out of doors. 

And Arabella said, "I'm glad it's winter, 
and cold, because Christmas will come before 
long, I'm sure." 

And Araminta said, "Yes, Christmas will 
come before long, I'm sure." 

And there were more cold days, and more 
cold days, and more cold days. 

And then there came a day that was a 
very little warmer, and it began to snow. 
And it snowed and snowed and snowed and 
snowed and snowed. Right out of the sky 
the little white flakes came chasing each 
other, faster and faster and faster and faster, 
till the ground was all covered and white. 
And still it kept snowing and snowing and 
snowing! And the snow got deeper and 
deeper and deeper and deeper, till great 
drifts were piled all around, — the fence was 
covered, and the rosebush; and you could n't 
see the path! 

And Arabella stood at the window and 
watched the little white flakes come chasing 
each other right out of the sky. 

And Araminta stood at the window and 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 35 

watched the little white flakes come chasing 
each other right out of the sky. 

And Arabella clapped her little hands and 
laughed, and said: "Oh, I'm glad that it's 
snowing, for now Christmas will come, I'm 
sure; now Christmas will come, I'm sure!" 

And Araminta clapped her little hands and 
laughed, and said: "Oh, I'm glad that it's 
snowing, for now Christmas will come, I'm 
sure; now Christmas will come, I'm sure!" 

And every morning, when she awoke, 
Arabella would say, "Is it Christmas to-day, 
mamma?" 

And every morning, when she awoke, 
Araminta would say, "Is it Christmas to- 
day, mamma?" 

And their mamma would say: "Not yet, 
not yet. You must wait for a few days more. " 

And Arabella would say: "Will Santa 
Claus come down our chimney, mamma, with 
a pack like the one in the picture?" 

And Araminta would say: "Will Santa 
Claus come down our chimney, mamma, 
with a pack like the one in the picture?" 

And their mamma said: "Well, I hope 
Santa will remember you, dears. He did 



36 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

not pass over this home last year. Oh, yes, 
I think he'll remember !" 

And the days went by, and the days went 
by, till one day their mamma said: "To- 
night, Arabella, is Christmas Eve, — to-night, 
Araminta, is Christmas Eve, and to-morrow 
is Christmas Day." 

And Arabella clapped her hands and danced 
around the room and cried, "Oh, goody, 
goody, goody !" 

And Araminta clapped her hands and 
danced around the room and cried, "Oh, 
goody, goody, goody!" 

And Arabella said, "Shall we hang our 
little stockings up by the fireplace to-night 
for Santa to fill, mamma?" 

And Araminta said: "Shall we hang our 
little stockings up by the fireplace to-night 
for Santa to fill, mamma?" 

And their mother said: "Yes, yes, you 
may hang them up to-night, dears." And 
they did. 

Arabella hung her two dear little stock- 
ings on the right side of the fireplace, and 
Araminta hung her two dear little stockings 
on the left side of the fireplace. Close up 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 37 

to the fireplace those four little stockings 
were hung so Santa could easily find them. 

And then Arabella went to bed and slept, 
and slept, and slept. And Araminta went to 
bed and slept, and slept, and slept. 

But while Arabella and Araminta were 
sleeping, dear Santa was wide awake; and 
all through ^the night he was very busily 
working. 

The moon was shining, and all over the 
ground the snow lay white, and it was cold, 
very cold, — boo! boo! It made you shiver 
and~shake, — boo! boo! — it made you shiver 
and shake. It was a beautiful night for 
Santa! 

He came in a sleigh of silver and gold, 
with six white reindeers, — at least so I'm 
told (I never sat up to see), — with six white 
reindeers all covered with bells, with dear 
little bells of silver and gold that tinkle, 
and tinkle, and tinkle. 

Of course it's all true. Don't you doubt, 
it's all true. How else could he come? He 
comes every year; how else could he come? 

And while Arabella slept, and while Ara- 
minta slept, he came in his sleigh of silver 



38 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

and gold, with the six white reindeers, right 
up to their door, and he rapped, tap, tap, 
and he rang the bell; but no one woke up 
or heard him! It was a beautiful night for 
Santa ! 

It was cold and clear, and the moon shone 
bright. Just the kind of a Christmas to give 
delight to a jolly old soul like Santa. 

And Arabella's and Araminta's papa had 
put a ladder up by the house to make it 
easy for Santa. And he ran up the ladder 
and stood on the roof. And he tiptoed around 
until he found the chimney, and he laughed 
as he looked down the chimney, and he said: 
"The door is locked and all are asleep, so 
as usual I'll go down the chimney." 

And he looked up at the moon, and shook 
his curls, and said: "Arabella and Ara- 
minta are good little girls. Don't forget, 
dear Santa, they are good little girls. " Then, 
pop, he was gone down the chimney! 

And there by the fireplace he found Ara- 
bella's two little stockings and Araminta's 
two little stockings, and he filled them all 
full, so full they ran over, and things lay 
around on the floor. Then up through the 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 39 

chimney he went as quick as a wink, much 
quicker than you could possibly think. And 
he ran down the ladder and jumped into his 
sleigh, and spoke to the reindeers and rode 
away. It was a beautiful night for Santa! 

And Arabella slept and slept, and Ara- 
minta slept and slept. And then it was 
Christmas morning! 

And Arabella woke up and said: " Merry 
Christmas, Araminta! Oh, do you suppose 
dear Santa did come? ,, 

And Araminta said: " Merry Christmas, 
Arabella! Oh, do you suppose dear Santa 
did come? ,, 

And they jumped out of their little beds 
and put on their little flannel gowns, and 
ran downstairs as fast as they could go. 
And there by the fireplace the four little 
stockings were hanging, full, — full to the 
toes and running over! 

And Arabella said: "Oh, Santa has been 
here! Just see, see, see my stocking, Ara- 
minta !" 

And Araminta said: "Oh, Santa has been 
here! Just see, see, see my stocking, Ara- 
bella!" 



40 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

And then they looked at their presents. 
Arabella had a beautiful big new doll, and 
Araminta had a beautiful big new doll. 
And Arabella had a little set of dishes, and 
Araminta had a little set of dishes. And 
Arabella had a storybook, a beautiful story- 
book, and Araminta had a storybook, a 
beautiful storybook. And Arabella had a 
little white muff and tippet all for herself, 
and Araminta had a little white muff and 
tippet all for herself. And Arabella had a 
rocking-horse, — she was very fond of horses, — 
and Araminta had a rocking-horse, — she was 
very fond of horses. And Arabella had a 
big red ball, and Araminta had a big red ball. 
And Arabella had a box of candy and nuts, 
and Araminta had a box of candy and nuts. 
And Arabella had a little silver thimble, 
and Araminta had a little silver thimble. 
And they had other things, a great many 
other things, — I cannot begin to tell you. 

And all day long they played with their 
presents, — yes, all Christmas Day they played 
with their presents. It was a very merry 
Christmas. 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 41 

THE BIRTHDAY PARTY 1 

GOOD-BY, ARABELLA, GOOD-BY, ARAMINTA. 

WE HOPE YOU WILL HAVE MANY HAPPY 

BIRTHDAYS 

And the days went by, and the weeks 
went by, and the months went by, and a year 
went by, and our dear Arabella was five years 
old, and our dear Araminta was five years 
old. Their birthday came on the very same 
day, because they were twins, you know. 

It was a beautiful day in June, a beautiful 
day in June; and it was their birthday. 

And what do you suppose they had? 
Why, they had a party, a birthday party, 
out under the trees on the lawn. It was 
Arabella's party, and it was Araminta's 
party. And there were five little girls and 
five little boys invited to come to the party. 
And they were to have such a beautiful time! 

At half-past two the party came, and 
stayed till half -past five. 

And Arabella wore a white dotted muslin 
dress, and her little arms and her neck were 
bare. And she wore a pink sash, and little 

1 From "Arabella and Araminta," by Gertrude Smith. Copyright, 1805. 
Reprinted by permission of the publishers, Small, Maynard &* Company, 
Incorporated. 



42 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 



pink bows on her shoulders. And, oh, she 
did look so pretty, and sweet, and dear! 

And Araminta wore a white dotted muslin 
dress, and her little arms and neck were bare. 
And she wore a blue sash, and little blue 
bows on her shoulders. And, oh, she did 
look so pretty, and sweet, and dear! 

And when it was time for the children to 
come, — for the children to come to the party, 
— Arabella and Araminta stood out by the 
gate, stood out by the gate, and waited. 
And up the road the children came, — the 
five little girls and the five little boys, — all 
running and skipping and jumping. 

And Arabella clapped her hands, and said: 
"Oh, the party is coming! Araminta, see, 
see, the party is coming !" 

And Araminta clapped her hands, and said : 
"Oh, the party is coming! See, see, the 
party is coming !" 

And Arabella climbed up on the gate, and 
waved her little handkerchief. "I see you!" 
she called. "I see you, all of you, coming!" 

And Araminta climbed up on the gate, and 
waved her little handkerchief. "I see you!" 
she called. "I see you, all of you, coming!" 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 43 

And up through the gate the children came, 
— the five little girls and the five little boys, — 
all running and skipping and jumping. 

There were Jamie and Josie Browne, and 
Martha and Nelly Little, and dear little 
Dorothy Flint, and her cousin Margery 
Allen, and Henry and Herbert and Freddy 
DeLong, and their little sister Mabel. And 
this was the party. 

It was a beautiful day in June, you remem- 
ber, a warm, bright, beautiful day in June. 
And what fun they had at that party! 

They ran about on the lawn, and they 
played all the games they knew. And Ara- 
bella's mamma, and Araminta's mamma, 
came out on the lawn and told them some 
new games to play, and showed them how 
to play them. She played with them, just 
as though she were a dear little girl herself. 
And, oh, they had a beautiful time! 

And then came the loveliest part of all, 
the dinner, — the birthday dinner out under 
the trees on the lawn. All the five little 
girls sat on one side of the table, and all 
the five little boys sat on the other side of 
the table, and Arabella sat at one end of the 



44 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

table in her high chair, and Araminta sat 
at the other end of the table in her high 
chair. And then the dinner began. 

And right in the middle of the table were 
five dear little cakes with candles on them, 
one little candle on each little cake. And 
one of the cakes had " Arabella " printed on 
it in candies, in little pink and white candies. 
And one of the cakes had " Araminta' ' 
printed on it in candies, in little pink and white 
candies. These were their birthday cakes, 
you know, their dear little birthday cakes. 
But before they came to the cakes they had 
other things that were good to eat, a great 
many other things. It was a very, very nice 
dinner. And up over their heads were the 
green, green boughs of the trees, and up in 
the trees the dear little birds were singing 
and singing and singing. 

And the five little boys, and the five little 
girls, and dear Arabella, and dear Araminta, 
were eating their dinner, and laughing and 
talking, and having the best, best time. 

And then such a funny thing happened, 
such a funny, funny thing happened. What 
do you suppose it was? Why, it began to 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 45 

rain! But that isn't funny at all, you say, 
to have it rain on the dinner. But it wasn't 
truly rain, at all, only a shower of flowers, 
right out of the cherry tree above them, came 
falling and falling and falling all over the heads 
of the children, all over the heads of the party! 
And the children laughed with delight, and 
held up their hands and caught them. 

"Oh, it's raining flowers!" they all cried, 
and held up their hands and caught them. 

But Arabella pointed up in the tree and 
laughed, and said: "Oh, I see my naughty, 
funny papa up in the tree! I know who 
tumbled the flowers on our heads! I know! 
I know! I know!" 

And Araminta pointed up in the tree, and 
said: "Oh, I see my naughty, funny papa 
up in the tree! I know who tumbled the 
flowers on our heads! I know! I know! 
I know!" 

And all the children laughed and looked 
up in the tree and pointed. 

"We see you up in the tree!" they cried. 
"We see you up there in the branches! We 
know who tumbled the flowers on our heads! 
We know! we know!" 



46 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

And then that funny papa sat out on a 
bough of the tree and sang them this song : 

"I should not think a turtle-dove 
Could sit up in a tree, 
And hold by his two little feet, 
While making melody. 

"I wonder why the pigeons 

Have never learned to write; 
Such bright-eyed, clever little birds. 
I really think they might ! 

"I can't think why a cherry tree 
Should never raise a pear, 
But always cherries, cherries red, 
A-bobbing in the air. 

"I don't see how an apple 

In one summer can learn how 
To grow up from a blossom 
And hang upon a bough. 

"What would you do, what could you do, 
If some fine summer day 
The leaves should all be faces, 
And watch you while you play? 

"Suppose this tree should change its mind 
Before another spring, 
And turn into a giant, 
And tell us everything? " 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 47 

And the children all cried: "Tell it again! 
Tell it again !" 

And so he sang it again. And then he 
jumped down from the tree, while all the 
children stood about and laughed and clapped 
their hands. 

And then the dinner was over, and they 
played more games; and Arabella's and 
Araminta's papa played with them, — that 
dear good papa played with them. And 
they had a splendid time. I am sure they 
will always remember, they had such a splen- 
did time. 

And then it was half-past five, and the 
party went home, — all the five little girls and 
the five little boys, — and the party was over. 

And that night, when Arabella went to 
bed, she stood on tiptoe and looked in the 
glass, and said: "I'm five years old, I'm 
not four any more; and I'm certainly, cer- 
tainly growing. " 

And Araminta stood on tiptoe beside 
Arabella, and looked in the glass, and said: 
"I'm five years old, I'm not four any more; 
and I'm certainly, certainly growing." 



48 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

FIVE LITTLE BROTHERS 

Five little brothers set out together 

To journey the livelong day. 
In a curious carriage all made of leather 

They hurried away, away! 
One big brother, and three quite small, 

And one wee fellow no size at all. 

The carriage was dark and none too roomy, 
And they could not move about; 

The five little brothers grew very gloomy, 
And the wee one began to pout, 

Till the biggest one whispered, "What do 
you say? 
Let's leave the carriage and run away!" 

So out they scampered, the five together, 

And off and away they sped! 
When somebody found the carriage of leather, 

Oh, my, how she shook her head! 
'Twas her little boy's shoe, as every one 

knows, 
And the five little brothers were five little 
toes. 

Ella Wheeler Wilcox. 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 49 

THE CAT AND THE MOUSE 1 

The cat and the mouse played in a malt 
house. The cat bit off the moused tail. 
"Pray, Puss, give me my tail again. " 
"No," said the cat, "I'll not give you 
your tail again till you go to the cow and 
fetch me some milk." 

First she leaped, and then she ran, 

Till she came to the cow and thus began : 

"Pray, Cow, give me some milk that I may 
give it to the cat, so she may give me my tail 
again." 

"No," said the cow, "I'll give you no 
milk till you go to the farmer and get me some 
hay." 

First she leaped, and then she ran, 

Till she came to the farmer and thus began: 

"Pray, Farmer, give me some hay that I 
may give it to the cow, so she may give me 
some milk that I may give it to the cat, so 
she may give me my tail again." 

"No," said the farmer, "I'll give you no 
hay till you go to the butcher and fetch me 
some meat." 

1 From "For the Children's Hour." By permission of the publishers, Milton 
Bradley Co. 
4 



50 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

First she leaped, and then she ran, 

Till she came to the butcher and thus began: 

"Pray, Butcher, give me some meat that 
I may give it to the farmer, so he may give 
me some hay that I may give it to the cow, so 
she may give me some milk that I may give 
it to the cat, so she may give me my tail again.' ' 

"No," said the butcher, "I will give you 
no meat till you go to the baker and fetch 
me some bread." 

First she leaped, and then she ran, 

Till she came to the baker and thus began: 

"Pray, Baker, give me some bread that I 
may give it to the butcher, so he may give 
me some meat that I may give to the farmer, 
so he may give me some hay that I may give 
to the cow, so she may give me some milk 
that I may give to the cat, so she may give 
me my tail again." 

"Well," said the baker, "I '11 give you some bread — 
But don't eat my meal, or I'll cut off your head." 

The baker gave the mouse bread which she 
brought to the butcher, the butcher gave the 
mouse meat which she brought to the farmer, 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 51 

the farmer gave the mouse hay which she 
brought to the cow, the cow gave the mouse 
milk which she brought to the cat, and the 
cat gave the mouse her tail again. 

Carolyn S. Bailey. 

THE ROBBER KITTEN 

A kitten once to its mother said, 

"I'll never more be good, 
But I'll go and be a robber bold 

And live in a dreary wood, 
Wood, wood, wood, 

And live in a dreary wood." 

So off he went to a dreary wood, 

And there he met a cock, 
And blew his head with a pistol off, 

Which gave him an awful shock, 
Shock, shock, shock, 

Which gave him an awful shock. 

Soon after that he met a cat. 

"Now give to me your purse 
Or I '11 shoot you through, and stab you, too, 

And kill you, which is worse, 
Worse, worse, worse, 

And kill you, which is worse, ,? 



52 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

At last he met a robber dog 
And they sat down to drink; 

The dog did joke and laugh and sing, 
Which made the kitten wink, 

Wink, wink, wink, 
Which made the kitten wink. 

At last they quarreled, then they fought 
Beneath the greenwood tree, 

And puss was felled with an awful club 
Most terrible to see, 

See, see, see, 
Most terrible to see. 

When puss got up his eye was cut, 
And swelled, and black and blue, 

Moreover all his bones were sore, 
Which made this kitten mew, 

Mew, mew, mew, 
Which made this kitten mew. 

So up he got and rubbed his head 

And went home very sad. 
"O mother dear, behold me here; 

I'll nevermore be bad, 
Bad, bad, bad, 

I'll nevermore be bad." 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 53 

THE THREE BILLY GOATS GRUFF 

Once there were three billy goats named 
Gruff. They wished to go up on the hillside 
to eat the fresh green grass that grew there, 
for they were very lean and hungry and the 
grass was all gone from their side of the 
mountain. 

But there was a little stream over which 
they must pass to reach the green hillside, 
and under the bridge which they must cross 
lived an ugly old troll. 

"I will go first/ ' said the little billy goat 
Gruff, and he started across the bridge. 

Trip, trap, trip, trap, went the bridge. 

"Who goes tripping over my bridge ?" 
roared the troll. 

"It's I— I'm the little billy goat Gruff," 
said the little goat. " I go upon the hillside 
to eat the green grass." 

"I think I'll eat you," said the troll. 

"Oh, don't do that," said the little goat. 
"My bigger brother is coming. You'd better 
eat him." 

"Very well," said the troll, and the little 
goat hurried on, trip, trap, trip, trap, over 



54 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

the bridge, and up on the hillside to eat the 
green grass. 

Soon after the next billy goat Gruff came 
along. 

Trip, trap, trip, trap, went the bridge. 

"Who goes tripping over my bridge ?" 
roared the troll. 

"It's I. I'm the second billy goat Gruff. 
I 'm going up on the hillside to eat the green 
grass. " 

"I think I'll eat you," said the troll. 

"Oh, don't eat me. My big brother is 
coming. You'd better eat him." 

"Well, be off with you," said the troll. 

But just then up came the big billy goat 
Gruff. 

TRIP, TRAP, TRIP, TRAP, went the 
bridge. 

"Who goes tripping over my bridge?" 
roared the troll. 

"It's I. I'm the big billy goat Gruff. I 
go up on the hillside to eat the green grass." 

"Now, I'm coming up to eat you," roared 
the troll. 

"COME ON, THEN," said the big billy 
goat Gruff, who had a great hoarse voice of 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 55 

his own, and he lowered his horns and when 
the old troll climbed upon the bridge he 
struck him a terrible blow and knocked him 
down into the water, where he was changed 
into a great stone. 

If you go over the bridge you may see it 
there to this day. And the big billy goat Grurl 
went TRIP, TRAP, TRIP, TRAP over the 
bridge and up on the hillside to eat the green 
grass. 

And if the grass is not all gone, the three 
brother billy goats are eating there yet. 
Adapted from the Norwegian. 

THE LITTLE RED HEN 

Once upon a time there was a little red hen 
who lived alone in a little house in the wood. 
A crafty old fox had his home in the wood, 
and many a time he tried to catch the little 
red hen and carry her away to his hole, but 
she always outwitted him. 

One day he had crept up close to her house 
when he saw her come out to fill her apron 
full of chips to make her fire. Quick as a 
flash he darted through the door. In came 



56 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

the little red hen, but when she saw the fox 
she flew screaming to the rafters. 

"Come down," said the fox. 

"Oh, no," said the little red hen. 

"Then see how I can dance," said the fox, 
and round and round he danced until the 
little red hen grew so dizzy that down she 
fell from the rafters. Quickly the fox popped 
her into his bag and off he went through the 
wood with the bag over his shoulder. But 
he soon became tired and lay down to rest. 

The little red hen took her scissors from 
her pocket and snipped a hole in the bag. 
Very quietly she crept out and, finding a big 
stone, she rolled it into the bag and sewed up 
the hole. And away ran the little red hen 
to her house, and went in and locked the door. 

Soon the fox awoke and, putting the bag 
on his back, away he ran to his den. 

"This little red hen is very heavy," said 
he. "It is a good supper I shall have to- 
night." 

When he came to his den he called to his 
old mother: 

"Put on the kettle, for it's the little red 
hen we'll have for our supper." 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 57 

So the old fox put on the kettle, and when 
the water boiled they held the sack over the 
kettle, and out fell the big stone, and splash ! 
went the boiling water all over the fox and 
his mother, and scalded them to death. 

But the little red hen lived happily in her 
house ever after. 

THE LITTLE RED HEN AND THE 
GRAIN OF WHEAT 

One day when the little red hen was scratch- 
ing in the garden she found a grain of wheat. 
"Who will plant this grain of wheat ?" 
said the little red hen. 
I won't, " said the cat. 
I won't," said the rat. 
I won't," said the cock. 
I won't," said the duck. 
I won't," said the curly-tailed pig. 
Then I will," said the little red hen, and 
she did. 

The wheat grew and grew, and finally it 
was ready to cut. 

"Who will cut the wheat?" said the little 
red hen. 

"I won't," said the cat. 



58 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

"I won't," said the rat. 
"I won't," said the cock. 
"I won't," said the duck. 
"I won't," said the curly-tailed pig. 
"Then I will," said the little red hen, and 
she did. 

When the wheat was gathered she said, 
"Who will take this wheat to the mill?" 

I won't, " said the cat. 

I won't," said the rat. 

I won't," said the cock. 

I won't," said the duck. 

I won't," said the curly-tailed pig. 

Then I will," said the little red hen, 
and she did. 

When the wheat was ground the little red 
hen brought it home. 

"Now who will make this wheat into 
bread?" said she. 

I won't, " said the cat. 

I won't, " said the rat. 

I won't," said the cock. 

I won't," said the duck. 

I won't," said the curly- tailed pig. 

Then I will," said the little red hen. 
So she made the bread and baked it, and 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 59 

when it was done she took it from the oven. 
"Now who will help me eat this bread?" 
said she. 

I will," said the cat. 

I will," said the rat. 

I will," said the cock. 

I will, " said the duck. 

I will," said the curly-tailed pig. 

Oh, no, you won't, " said the little red hen, 
and calling the little chickens, they had a feast 
in the corner of the barnyard, and the cat and 
the rat and the cock and the duck and the 
curly-tailed pig did not get even a crumb. 

THE OLD WOMAN AND HER PIG 

An old woman was sweeping her house and 
she found a little crooked sixpence. 

"What shall I do with this sixpence?" said 
she. ' ' I will go to market, and buy a little pig. ' ' 

So the old woman went to market and 
bought the pig. And as she was coming 
home she came to a stile; but the pig would 
not go over the stile. So she said: 

"Pig, pig, get over the stile; 
Or I shan't get home to-night." 

But the pig would not. 



60 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

She went a little farther, and she met a 
dog. So she said to the dog: 

"Dog, dog, bite pig; 
Pig won't get over the stile ; 
And I shan't get home to-night." 

But the dog would not. 
She went a little farther, and she met a 
stick. So she said: 

"Stick, stick, beat dog; 
Dog won't bite pig; 
Pig won't get over the stile; 
And I shan't get home to-night." 

But the stick would not. 
She went a little farther, and she met a 
fire. So she said: 

"Fire, fire, burn stick; 
Stick won't beat dog; 
Dog won't bite pig; 
Pig won't get over the stile; 
And I shan't get home to-night." 

But the fire would not. 
She went a little farther, and she met some 
water. So she said: 

"Water, water, quench fire; 
Fire won't burn stick; 
Stick won't beat dog; 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 61 

Dog won't bite pig; 

Pig won't get over the stile; 

And I shan't get home to-night." 

But the water would not. 
She went a little farther, and she met an 
ox. So she said: 

"Ox, ox, drink water; 
Water won't quench fire; 
Fire won't burn stick; 
Stick won't beat dog; 
Dog won't bite pig; 
Pig won't get over the stile ; 
And I shan't get home to-night." 

But the ox would not. 
She went a little farther, and she met a 
butcher. So she said: 

"Butcher, butcher, kill ox; 
Ox won't drink water; 
Water won't quench fire; 
Fire won't burn stick; 
Stick won't beat dog; 
Dog won't bite pig; 
Pig won't get over the stile; 
And I shan't get home to-night." 

But the butcher would not: 
She went a little farther, and she met a 
rope. So she said: 



62 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

"Rope, rope, hang butcher; 
Butcher won't kill ox; 
Ox won't drink water; 
Water won't quench fire; 
Fire won't burn stick; 
Stick won't beat dog; 
Dog won't bite pig; 
Pig won't get over the stile; 
And I shan't get home to-night." 

But the rope would not. 
She went a little farther, and she met a rat. 
So she said : 

"Rat, rat, gnaw rope; 
Rope won't hang butcher; 
Butcher won't kill ox; 
Ox won't drink water; 
Water won't quench fire ; 
Fire won't burn stick; 
Stick won't beat dog; 
Dog won't bite pig; 
Pig won't get over the stile ; 
And I shan't get home to-night." 

But the rat would not. 
She went a little farther, and she met a cat. 
So she said: 

"Cat, cat, kill rat; 
Rat won't gnaw rope; 
Rope won't hang butcher; 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 63 

Butcher won't kill ox; 

Ox won't drink water; 

Water won't quench fire; 

Fire won't burn stick; 

Stick won't beat dog; 

Dog won't bite pig; 

Pig won't get over the stile; 

And I shan't get home to-night." 

But the cat said to her, "If you will go 
to yonder cow, and fetch me a saucer of milk, 
I will kill the rat." 

So away went the old woman to the cow, 
and said: 

"Cow, cow, give me a saucer of milk; 
Cat won't kill rat; 
Rat won't gnaw rope ; 
Rope won't hang butcher; 
Butcher won't kill ox; 
Ox won't drink water; 
Water won't quench fire; 
Fire won't burn stick; 
Stick won't beat dog; 
Dog won't bite pig; 
Pig won't get over the stile; 
And I shan't get home to-night." 

But the cow said to her, "If you will go 
to yonder haymakers, and fetch me a wisp of 
hay, I'll give you the milk." So away went 



64 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

the old woman to the haymakers, and said: 

"Haymakers, give me a wisp of hay; 
Cow won't give me milk; 
Cat won't kill rat; 
Rat won't gnaw rope; 
Rope won't hang butcher; 
Butcher won't kill ox; 
Ox won't drink water; 
Water won't quench fire; 
Fire won't burn stick; 
Stick won't beat dog; 
Dog won't bite pig; 
Pig won't get over the stile; 
And I shan't get home to-night." 

But the haymakers said to her, "If you 
will go to yonder stream, and fetch us a 
bucket of water, we'll give you the hay." 

So away the old woman went; but when she 
got to the stream, she found the bucket was 
full of holes. So she covered the bottom with 
pebbles, and then filled the bucket with water, 
and away she went back with it to the 
haymakers; and they gave her a wisp of hay. 
As soon as the cow had eaten the hay she 
gave the old woman the milk; and away she 
went with it in a saucer to the cat. As soon 
as the cat had lapped up the milk 






THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 65 

The cat began to kill the rat; 

The rat began to gnaw the rope; 

The rope began to hang the butcher ; 

The butcher began to kill the ox; 

The ox began to drink the water; 

The water began to quench the fire; 

The fire began to burn the stick; 

The stick began to beat the dog; 

The dog began to bite the pig; 

The little pig in a fright jumped over the stile; 

And so the old woman got home that night. 

THE LITTLE GRAY PONY 1 

There was once a man who owned a little 
gray pony. 

Every morning when the dewdrops were 
still hanging on the pink clover in the mead- 
ows, and the birds were singing their morning 
song, the man would jump on his pony and 
ride away, clippety, clippety, clap! 

The pony's four small hoofs played the 
jolliest time on the smooth pike road, the 
pony's head was always high in the air, and 
the pony's two little ears were always pricked 
up ; for he was a merry gray pony, and loved 
to go clippety, clippety, clap! 

By permission of the publishers, Milton Bradley Co. 



66 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

The man rode to town and to country, 
to church and to market, up hill and down 
hill; and one day he heard something fall 
with a clang on a stone in the road. Looking 
back, he saw a horseshoe lying there. And 
when he saw it, he cried out: 

"What shall I do? What shall I do? 
If my little gray pony has lost a shoe? " 

Then down he jumped, in a great hurry, 
and looked at one of the pony's forefeet; 
but nothing was wrong. He lifted the other 
forefoot, but the shoe was still there. He 
examined one of the hindfeet, and began to 
think that he was mistaken; but when he 
looked at the last foot, he cried again: 

"What shall I do? What shall I do? 
My little gray pony has lost a shoe! " 

Then he made haste to go to the black- 
smith; and when he saw the smith he called 
out to him: 

"Blacksmith! Blacksmith! I 've come to you; 
My little gray pony has lost a shoe! " 

But the blacksmith answered and said: 

"How can I shoe your pony's feet, 
Without some coal the iron to heat?" 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 67 

The man was downcast when he heard this; 
but he left his little gray pony in the black- 
smith's care, while he hurried here and there 
to buy the coal. 

First of all he went to the store; and when 
he got there he said: 

"Storekeeper! Storekeeper! I've come to you; 
My little gray pony has lost a shoe ! 
And I want some coal the iron to heat, 
That the blacksmith may shoe my pony's feet." 

But the storekeeper answered and said: 

"Now, I have apples and candy to sell, 
And more nice things than I can tell; 
But I 've no coal the iron to heat, 
That the blacksmith may shoe your pony's feet." 

Then the man went away, sighing and 
saying : 

"What shall I do? What shall I do? 
My little gray pony has lost a shoe! " 

By and by he met a farmer coming to town 
with a wagon full of good things ; and he said : 

"Farmer! Farmer! I've come to you; 
My little gray pony has lost a shoe ! 
And I want some coal the iron to heat, 
That the blacksmith may shoe my pony's feet." 



68 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

Then the farmer answered the man and 
said: 

"I 've bushels of corn and hay and wheat, 
Something for you and your pony to eat ; 
But I Ve no coal the iron to heat, 
That the blacksmith may shoe your pony's feet." 

So the farmer drove away and left the 
man standing in the road, sighing and saying : 

"What shall I do? What shall I do? 
My little gray pony has lost a shoe! " 

In the farmer's wagon, full of good things, 
he saw corn, which made him think of the 
mill; so he hastened there, and called to the 
dusty miller : 

1 ' Miller ! Miller ! I ' ve come to you ; 
My little gray pony has lost a shoe, 
And I want some coal the iron to heat, 
That the blacksmith may shoe my pony's feet." 

The miller came to the door in surprise; 
and when he heard what was needed he said: 

"I have wheels that go round and round, 
And stones to turn till the grain is ground; 
But I 've no coal the iron to heat, 
That the blacksmith may shoe your pony's feet." 

Then the man turned away sorrowfully 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 69 

and sat down on a rock near the roadside, 
sighing and saying: 

"What shall I do? What shall I do? 
My little gray pony has lost a shoe! " 

After a while a very old woman came down 
the road, driving a flock of geese to market; 
and when she came near the man she stopped 
to ask him his trouble. He told her all about 
it; and when she had heard it all she laughed 
till her geese joined in^with a cackle; and she 
said: 

"If you would know where the coal is found, 
You must go to the miner, who works in the ground." 

Then the man sprang to his feet, and, 
thanking the old woman, he ran to the miner. 
Now the miner had been working many a 
long day down in the mine, under the ground, 
where it was so dark that he had to wear a 
lamp on the front of his cap to light him at 
his work! He had plenty of black coal 
ready, and gave great lumps of it to the man, 
who took them in haste to the blacksmith. 

The blacksmith lighted his great red fire, and 
hammered out four fine new shoes, with a cling ! 
and a clang ! and fastened them on with a rap ! 



70 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

and a tap ! Then away rode the man on his 
little gray pony, — clippety, clippety, clap! 

Maud Lindsay. 

THE WIND'S WORK 1 

One morning Jan waked up very early, 
and the first thing he saw when he opened 
his eyes was his great kite in the corner. 
His big brother had made it for him; and 
it had a smiling face, and a long tail that 
reached from the bed to the fireplace. It 
did not smile at Jan that morning though, 
but looked very sorrowful and seemed to 
say, " Why was I made? Not to stand in a 
corner, I hope!" for it had been finished for 
two whole days and not a breeze had blown 
to carry it up like a bird in the air. 

Jan jumped out of bed, dressed himself, 
and ran to the door to see if the windmill 
on the hill was at work; for he hoped that 
the wind had come in the night. But the 
mill was silent and its arms stood still. Not 
even a leaf turned over in the yard. 

The windmill stood on a high hill where 
all the people could see it, and when its long 

1 F rom" Mother Stories." By permission of the publishers, Milton Bradley Co. 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK jri 

arms went whirling around every one knew 
that there was no danger of being hungry, 
for then the miller was busy from morn to 
night grinding the grain that the farmers 
brought him. 

When Jan looked out, however, the miller 
had nothing to do, and was standing in his 
doorway, watching the clouds, and saying 
to himself (though Jan could not hear him) : 

"Oh! how I wish the wind would blow, 
So that my windmill's sails might go, 
To turn my heavy millstones round ! 
For corn and wheat must both be ground, 
And how to grind I do not know 
Unless the merry wind will blow." 

He sighed as he spoke, for he looked down in 
the village, and saw the baker in neat cap 
and apron, standing idle too. 

The baker's ovens were cold, and his trays 
were clean, and he, too, was watching the 
sky, and saying: 

"Oh! how I wish the wind would blow, 
So that the miller's mill might go, 
And grind me flour so fine, to make 
My good light bread and good sweet cake! 
But how to bake I do not know 
Without the flour as white as snow." 



72 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

Jan heard every word that the baker said, 
for he lived next door to him; and he felt so 
sorry for his good neighbor that he wanted to 
tell him so. But before he had time to speak, 
somebody else called out from across the street : 

"Well! I 'm sure I wish the wind would blow, 
For this is washing day, you know. 
I 've scrubbed and rubbed with all my might, 
In tubs of foam from morning light, 
And now I want the wind to blow 
To dry my clothes as white as snow." 

This was the washerwoman, who was 
hanging out her clothes. Jan could see his 
own Sunday shirt, with ruffles, hanging limp 
on her line, and it was as white as a snow- 
flake, sure enough! 

"Come over, little neighbor," cried the 
washerwoman, when she saw Jan. "Come 
over, little neighbor, and help me work to- 
day !" So, as soon as Jan had eaten his 
breakfast, he ran over to carry her basket 
for her. The basket was heavy, but he did 
not care; and as he worked he heard some 
one singing a song, 1 with a voice almost as 
loud and as strong as the wind. 

1 Air: "Nancy Lee." 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 73 

"Oh! if the merry wind would blow, 
Yeo ho! lads, ho! yeo ho! yeo ho! 
My gallant ship would gayly go, 
Yeo ho! lads, ho! yeo ho! 
In fresh'ning gales we 'd loose our sails, 

And o'er the sea, 
Where blue waves dance, and sunbeams glance, 

We 'd sail in glee, 
But winds must blow, before we go 

Across the sea, 
Yeo ho! my lads, yeo ho! " 

Jan and the washerwoman and all the 
neighbors looked out to see who was singing 
so cheerily, and it was the sea-captain whose 
white ship Jan had watched in the harbor. 
The ship was laden with linen and laces for 
fine ladies, but it could not go till the wind 
blew. The captain was impatient to be off, 
and so he walked about town, singing his 
jolly song to keep himself happy. 

Jan thought it was a beautiful song, and 
when he went home he tried to sing it him- 
self. He did not know all the words, but 
he put his hands in his pockets and swelled 
out his little chest and sang in as big a voice 
as he could: "Yeo ho! my lads, yeo ho!" 

While he sang, something kissed him on 



74 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

the cheek; and when he turned to see what 
it was his hat spun off into the yard as if 
it were enchanted; and when he ran to pick 
his hat up he heard a whispering all through 
th r ' jwn. He looked up, and he looked down, 
and on every side, but saw nobody! At 
last the golden weather vane on the church 
tower called down: 

"Foolish child, it is the wind from out of 
the east. " 

The trees had been the first to know of 
its coming, and they were bowing and bending 
to welcome it; while the leaves danced off 
the branches and down the hill, in a whirl 
of delight. 

The windmill's arms whirled round, oh! 
so fast, and the wheat was ground into 
white flour for the baker, who kindled his 
fires and beat his eggs in the twinkling of 
an eye; and he was not quicker than the 
sea-captain, who loosed his sails in the 
fresh'ning gales, just as he had said he would, 
and sailed away to foreign lands. 

Jan watched him go, and then ran in great 
haste to get his kite; for the petticoats on 
the washerwoman's clothesline were puffed 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 75 

up like balloons, and all the world was astir. 
"Now I'm in my proper place," said the 
kite as it sailed over the roofs of the houses, 
over the tree tops, over the golden weather 
vane, and even over the windmill itself. 
Higher, higher, higher it flew, as if it had 
wings; till it slipped away from the string, 
and Jan never saw it again, and only the wind 
knew where it landed at last. 

Maud Lindsay. 

CHICKEN LICKEN 

One day as Chicken Licken was scratching 
under the pea vines in the barnyard a pea 
fell out of a pod and struck her on the head. 

"Oh!" said Chicken Licken, "the sky is 
falling! I must go and tell the king." 

So she ran and she ran, until she met 
Henny Penny. 

"Where are you going, Chicken Licken?" 
said Henny Penny. 

"Oh, Henny Penny, the sky is falling, and 
I'm going to tell the king!" 

"How do you know? " 

"I saw it with my eyes and I heard it with 
my ears, and a piece of it fell on my tail!" 



76 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

"Then I will go with you," said Henny 
Penny. 

So they ran and they ran, until they met 
Cocky Locky. 

"Good morning, Henny Penny, " said Cocky 
Locky. "Where are you going?" 

"Oh, Cocky Locky, the sky is falling, and 
we are going to tell the king!" 

"How do you know?" 

"Chicken Licken told me." 

"I saw it with my eyes and I heard it with 
my ears, and a piece of it fell on my tail," 
said Chicken Licken. 

"Then I will go with you," said Cocky 
Locky. 

So they ran and they ran, until they met 
Ducky Lucky. 

"Good morning, Cocky Locky, Henny 
Penny, and Chicken Licken," said Ducky 
Lucky. "Where are you going?" 

"The sky is falling, and we are going to 
tell the king. " 

"How do you know?" 

"Henny Penny told me," said Cocky 
Locky. 

"Chicken Licken told me," said Henny 
Penny. 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 77 

"I saw it with my eyes and I heard it with 
my ears, and a piece of it fell on my tail," 
said Chicken Licken. 

"Then I will go with you," said Ducky 
Lucky. 

So they ran and they ran, until they met 
Turkey Lurkey. 

"Good morning, Ducky Lucky, Cocky 
Locky, Henny Penny, and Chicken Licken," 
said Turkey Lurkey. "Where are you 
going?" 

"Oh, Turkey Lurkey, the sky is falling, 
and we are going to tell the king. " 

"How do you know?" said Turkey Lurkey. 

"Cocky Locky told me," said Ducky 
Lucky. 

"Henny Penny told me," said Cocky 
Locky. 

"Chicken Licken told me," said Henny 
Penny. 

"I saw it with my eyes and I heard it with 
my ears, and a piece of it fell on my tail," 
said Chicken Licken. 

"Then I will go with you," said Turkey 
Lurkey. 

So they ran and they ran, until they came 
fo the woods, 



78 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

They had not gone far into the woods when 
they met Foxy Loxy. 

"Good morning, Turkey Lurkey, Ducky 
Lucky, Cocky Locky, Henny Penny, and 
Chicken Licken. Where are you going?" 

"The sky is falling, and we are going to 
tell the king." 

" Do you know where to go? " 

"No," said they. 

"Follow me, and I will show you," said 
Foxy Loxy. 

So they all followed him into the deep 
woods. By and by they came to a rocky 
cavern in the hillside. 

"Walk in here," said Foxy Loxy. And 
Turkey Lurkey, Ducky Lucky, Cocky Locky, 
Henny Penny, and Chicken Licken all walked 
into Foxy Loxy's den — and though he was 
seen to come out, no one ever saw those 
foolish birds again, and the king was never 
told that the sky was falling. 

THE OLD WOMAN WHO LIVED IN 
A VINEGAR BOTTLE 

Once there was an old woman who lived 
iq a vinegar bottle. 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 79 

One day she went to market to buy a loaf 
of bread, a pat of butter, and a little fish for 
her supper. When she was returning home 
she had to cross a bridge over a stream. 
Just before she came to the stream the little 
fish poked his head out of the paper and said, 
" Oh, please, little old woman, don't cook me for 
your supper. I don't want to be fried in a pan." 

"But I must," said the little old woman, 
"I have nothing else for my supper." 

"Please, please, throw me into the water, " 
said the little fish, "and maybe some day I 
can do something for you. " And he pleaded 
so hard that the old woman threw him into 
the water. He looked up and said, " Thank 
you, old woman," and then he disappeared. 

So the old woman went home, and that 
night she had only bread and butter and tea 
for her supper. 

The next morning when she was sweeping 
her house she found a bright new silver 
quarter. "There," said she, "the little fish 
has sent me this. ' ' And when she had finished 
her work she went again to market. 

This time she bought a piece of meat for 
her supper. When she was coming home 



80 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

what should she see in the water but the 
little fish. So she stopped and called out, 
" Thank you, little fish, for the silver quarter 
you sent me, but oh, little fish, I wish I had 
a little house to live in. It is very difficult 
keeping house in a vinegar bottle. One 
has so little room. " 

"Go home," said the little fish, "and per- 
haps you will have your wish." So the old 
woman went home, but when she got there 
the vinegar bottle was gone and in its place 
stood a neat little house. 

The old woman went in and was very 
happy for a few days with her housekeeping. 
But soon she began to wish for a larger house. 
This one was altogether too small. 

So the^old woman went down to the bridge 
and called, "Little fish, little fish, IVe got 
another wish!" 

"Oh, is it you, old woman?" said the little 
fish. "What is it you want now?" 

"The little house was very nice, little 
fish," said the old woman, "but it is quite 
too small for me. I want a large house, so 
that I may have company, and I want a 
little girl to help me take care of it. " 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 81 

"Well, well," said the little fish, "we will 
see," and down he went under the water. 

The old woman hurried home, but when 
she came in sight of the place the little house 
was gone and there stood a fine large one and 
a dear little girl was sweeping off the steps. 

The^old woman was greatly pleased, and 
she and the little girl were very happy for a 
time. They gave parties and they went to 
market and to church together. 

But one day the old woman thought how 
very nice it would be if they had a little pony 
and cart so that they might drive. 

She hurried down to the bridge and leaning 
over she called, "Little fish, little fish, I've 
got another wish!" 

"What, another wish?" said the little fish, 
looking up out of the water. "What do you 
wish for this time?" 

"I want a little pony and a cart so that 
my little girl and I can drive. It is very tire- 
some having to walk everywhere one goes," 
said the little old woman. 

"Well," said the little fish, "go home, and 
maybe you will have your wish." 

Away went the old woman, and when she 



82 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

got home what should she see but a little 
pony and cart tied in front of her house. 

The old woman was delighted, and she and 
the little girl had a beautiful time driving to 
church and to market and to the park when 
their work was finished. 

But one day the old woman thought how 
fine it would be if they had a big strong horse 
and a carriage with two seats so that they 
might take their friends driving. So she 
said to herself, "I'll go and tell the little 
fish." 

Down to the bridge she ran and called, 
"Little fish, little fish, I've got another 
wish!" 

"Another wish, old woman?" said the 
little fish from the water. "What is it you 
want now?" 

"I want a larger horse and a carriage with 
two seats, so that we may take our friends 
with us when we go driving. That little 
pony can go neither very fast nor very far." 

"You want too many things, old woman," 
said the little fish. "I can do no more for 
you," and he swam away under the water 
and the old woman never saw him again. 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 83 

When she reached home the fine house, the 
little girl, and the pony and cart were gone, 
and there stood the old vinegar bottle. 

Adapted. 

JOHNNY AND THE THREE GOATS 

Every morning Johnny drove his three 
goats to pasture and every evening when the 
sun was going to bed he brought them home. 

One morning he set off bright and early, 
driving the goats before him and whistling 
as he trudged along. Just as he reached Mr. 
Smith's turnip field what should he see but 
a broken board in the fence. The goats saw 
it too, and in they skipped and began running 
round and round the field, stopping now and 
then to nip off the tops of the tender young 
turnips. 

Johnny knew that would never do. Pick- 
ing up a stick, he climbed through the fence 
and tried to drive the goats out. But never 
were there such provoking goats. Round 
and round they went, not once looking toward 
the hole in the fence. Johnny ran and ran 
and ran till he could run no farther, and then 
he crawled through the hole in the fence and 



84 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

sat down beside the road and began to cry. 

Just then who should come down the road 
but the fox. 

1 ' Good morning, Johnny ! ' ' said he. ' ' What 
are you crying about ?" 

"I'm crying because I can't get the goats 
out of the turnip field, " said Johnny. 

"Oh, don't cry about that," said the fox. 
"I'll drive them out for you." 

So over the fence leaped the fox, and round 
and round the turnip field he ran after the 
goats. But no, they would not go out. 
They flicked their tails and shook their heads 
and away they went, trampling down the 
turnips until you could hardly have told 
what had been growing in the field. 

The fox ran till he could run no more. 
Then he went over and sat down beside 
Johnny, and he began to cry. 

Down the road came a rabbit. "Good 
morning, Fox," said he. "What are you 
crying about?" 

"I'm crying because Johnny is crying," 
said the fox, "and Johnny is crying because 
he can't get the goats out of the turnip 
field," 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 85 

"Oh, don't cry about that," said the 
rabbit. "I'll chase them out for you. " 

Through the fence hopped the rabbit, and 
round and round the field he chased the 
goats, but they would not go out, and finally 
the rabbit gave up the chase and went out 
into the road and sat down beside the fox, 
and he began to cry. 

Just then a bee came buzzing along over 
the tops of the flowers. 

When she saw the rabbit she said, "Go( d 
morning, Bunny, what are you cryi: * 
about?" 

"I'm crying because the fox is crying," 
said the rabbit, "and the fox is crying because 
Johnny is crying, and Johnny is crying 
because he can't get the goats out of the tur- 
nip field." 

"Don't cry about that," said the bee, "I'll 
soon get them out for you." 

"You!" said the rabbit, "a little thing 
like you drive the goats out, when neither 
Johnny, nor the fox, nor I can get them out?" 
And he laughed at the very idea of such a 
thing. 

"Watch me," said the bee, and over the 



86 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

fence she flew and buzz-zz-zz she went right 
in the ear of the biggest goat. 

The goat shook his head and tried to brush 
away the bee, but the bee only flew to the 
other ear and buzz-zz-zz she went, until the 
goat thought there must be some dreadful 
thing in the turnip field, so out through the 
hole in the fence he went, and ran down the 
road to his pasture. 

The bee flew over to the second goat and 
buzz-zz she went first in one ear and then in 
the other, until that goat was willing to follow 
the other through the fence and down the 
road to the pasture. 

The bee flew after the third goat and buzzed 
first in one ear and then in the other until 
he too was glad to follow the others. 

"Thank you, little bee," said Johnny, and, 
wiping away his tears, he hurried down the 
road to put the goats in the pasture. 

Adapted from the Norwegian. 

JOHNNY-CAKE 1 

Once upon a time there was an old man, 
and an old woman, and a little boy. One 

1 From "English Fairy Tales." By permission of the publishers, G. P. 
Putnam's Sons, New York and London. 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 87 

morning the old woman made a Johnny- 
cake, and put it in the oven to bake. "You 
watch the Johnny-cake while your father and 
I go out to work in the garden. " So the old 
man and the old woman went out and began 
to hoe potatoes, and left the little boy to 
tend the oven. But he didn't watch it all 
the time, and all of a sudden he heard a 
noise, and he looked up and the oven door 
popped open, and out of the oven jumped 
Johnny-cake, and went rolling along end over 
end, toward the open door of the house. 
The little boy ran to shut the door, but 
Johnny-cake was too quick for him and rolled 
through the door, down the steps, and out 
into the road long before the little boy 
could catch him. The little boy ran after 
him as fast as he could clip it, crying out to 
his father and mother, who heard the uproar, 
and threw down their hoes and gave chase 
too. But Johnny-cake outran all three a 
long way, and was soon out of sight, while 
they had to sit down, all out of breath, on a 
bank to rest. 

On went Johnny-cake, and by and by he 
came to two well-diggers who looked up from 



88 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

their work and called out: " Where ye go- 
ing, Johnny-cake ? ' ' 

He said: " I've outrun an old man,^and an 
old woman, and a little boy, and I can outrun 
you too-o-o!" 

"Ye can, can ye? We'll see about that!" 
said they; and they threw down their picks 
and ran after him, but couldn't catch up with 
him, and soon they had to sit down by the 
roadside to rest. 

On ran Johnny-cake, and by and by he 
came to two ditch-diggers who were digging 
a ditch. "Where ye going, Johnny-cake?" 
said they. He said: "I've outrun an old 
man, and an old woman, and a little boy, 
and two well-diggers, and I can outrun you 
too-o-o!" 

"Ye can, can ye? We'll see about that!" 
said they; and they threw down their spades, 
and ran after him too. But Johnny-cake 
soon outstripped them also, and seeing they 
could never catch him, they gave up the 
chase and sat down to rest. 

On went Johnny-cake, and by and by he 
came to a bear. The bear said: "Where 
are ye going, Johnny-cake?" 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 89 

He said: "I've outrun an old man, and 
an old woman, and a little boy, and two well- 
diggers, and two ditch-diggers, and I can 
outrun you too-o-o!" 

"Ye can, can ye?" growled the bear. 
"We'll see about that!" and trotted as fast 
as his legs could carry him after Johnny-cake, 
who never stopped to look behind him. 
Before long the bear was left so far behind 
that he saw he might as well give up the hunt 
first as last, so he stretched himself out by 
the roadside to rest. 

On went Johnny-cake, and by and by he 
came to a wolf. The wolf said: "Where 
ye going, Johnny-cake? " 
, He said: "I've outrun an old man, and 
an old woman, and a little boy, and two well- 
diggers, and two ditch-diggers, and a bear, 
and I can outrun you too-o-o!" 

"Ye can, can ye?" snarled the wolf. 
"We'll see about that!" And he set into a 
gallop after Johnny-cake, who went on and 
on so fast that the wolf too saw there was no 
hope of overtaking him, and he too lay down 
to rest. 

On went Johnny-cake, and by and by he 



9 o THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

came to a fox that lay quietly in a corner of 
the fence. The fox called out in a sharp 
voice, but without getting up: "Where ye 
going, Johnny-cake ?" 

He said: "I've outrun an old man, and 
an old woman, and a little boy, and two well- 
diggers, and two ditch-diggers, a bear, and a 
wolf, and I can outrun you too-o-o!" 

The fox said: "I can't quite hear you, 
Johnny-cake, won't you come a little closer?" 
turning his head a little to one side. 

Johnny-cake stopped his race for the first 
time, and went a little closer, and called out 
in a very loud voice: "I've outrun an old 
man, and an old woman, and a little boy, and 
two well-diggers, and two ditch-diggers, and 
a bear, and a wolf, and I can outrun you 
too-o-o!" 

"Can't quite hear you; won't you come 
a little closer?" said the fox in a feeble voice, 
as he stretched out his neck toward Johnny- 
cake, and put one paw behind his ear. 

Johnny-cake came up close, and leaning 
toward the fox screamed out : " I ' ve outrun 

AN OLD MAN, AND AN OLD WOMAN, AND A 
LITTLE BOY, AND TWO WELL-DIGGERS, AND 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 91 

TWO DITCH-DIGGERS, AND A BEAR, AND A 
WOLF, AND I CAN OUTRUN YOU TOO-O-O!" 

"You can, can you?" yelped the fox, and 
he snapped up the Johnny-cake in his sharp 
teeth in the twinkling of an eye. 

Joseph Jacobs. 

TITTY MOUSE AND TATTY MOUSE 

Titty Mouse and Tatty Mouse both lived in a 

house. 
Titty Mouse went a-leasing and Tatty Mouse 

went a-leasing, 
So they both went a-leasing. 
Titty Mouse leased an ear of corn, and Tatty 

Mouse leased an ear of corn, 
So they both leased an ear of corn. 
Titty Mouse made a pudding, and Tatty Mouse 

made a pudding, 
So they both made a pudding. 
And Tatty Mouse put her pudding into the pot 

to boil, 
But when Titty went to put hers in, the pot 

tumbled over, and scalded her to death. 

Then Tatty sat down and wept; then a 
three-legged stool said: "Tatty, why do you 
weep?" "Titty's dead," said Tatty, "and 

From "English Fairy Tales." By permission of the publishers, G. P. 
Putnam's Sons, New York and London. 



92 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

so I weep." "Then," said the stool, "I'll 
hop,"^so the stool hopped. 

Then a broom in the corner of the room said: 
"Stool, why do you hop?" "Oh!" said the 
stool, "Titty's dead, and Tatty weeps, and 
so I hop." "Then," said the broom, "I'll 
sweep," so the broom began to sweep. 

Then, said the door, "Broom, why do you 
sweep?" "Oh!" said the broom, "Titty's 
dead, and Tatty weeps, and the stool 
hops, and so I sweep." "Then," said the 
door, "I'll jar," so the door jarred. 

Then, said the window, "Door, why do 
you jar?" "Oh!" said the door, "Titty's 
dead, and Tatty weeps, and the stool hops, 
and the broom sweeps, and so I jar." 

"Then," said the window, "I'll creak," so 
the window creaked. Now there was an old 
form outside the house, and when the window 
creaked the form said: "Window, why do 
you creak? " " Oh! " said the window, "Titty's 
dead, and Tatty w r eeps, and the stool hops, 
and the broom sweeps, the door jars, and 
so I creak." 

"Then," said the old form, "I'll run 
round the house"; then the old form ran 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 93 

round the house. Now there was a fine, large 
walnut tree growing by the cottage, and the 
tree said to the form: "Form, why do you 
run round the house? " " Oh ! " said the form, 
"Titty's dead, and Tatty weeps, and the 
stool hops, and the broom sweeps, the door 
jars, and the window creaks, and so I run 
round the house. " 

"Then," said the walnut tree, "I'll shed 
my leaves," so the walnut tree shed all its 
beautiful green leaves. Now there was a 
little bird perched on one of the boughs of 
the tree, and when all the leaves fell it said: 
"Walnut tree, why do you shed your leaves? " 
"Oh!" said the tree, "Titty's dead, and 
Tatty weeps, the stool hops, and the broom 
sweeps, the door jars, and the window creaks, 
the old form runs round the house, and so I 
shed my leaves." 

"Then," said the little bird, "I'll moult 
all my feathers," so he moulted all his pretty 
feathers. Now there was a little girl walking 
below, carrying a jug of milk for her brothers' 
and sisters' supper, and when she saw the 
poor little bird moult all its feathers, she said: 
"Little bird, why do you moult all your 



94 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

feathers? " " Oh ! " said the little bird, " Titty 's 
dead, and Tatty weeps, the stool hops, and 
the broom sweeps, the door jars, and the 
window creaks, the old form runs round 
the house, the walnut tree sheds its leaves, 
and so I moult all my feathers." 

"Then," said the little girl, "I'll spill the 
milk," so she dropped the pitcher and spilled 
the milk. Now there was an old man just 
by on the top of a ladder, thatching a rick, 
and when he saw the little girl spill the milk 
he said: "Little girl, what do you mean by 
spilling the milk? Your little brothers and 
sisters must go without their supper. " Then 
said the little girl: "Titty's dead, and Tatty 
weeps, the stool hops, and the broom sweeps, 
the door jars, and the window creaks, the old 
form runs round the house, the walnut tree 
sheds all its leaves, the little bird moults all 
its feathers, and so I spill the milk. " 

"Oh!" said the old man, "then I'll tumble 
off the ladder and break my neck," so he 
tumbled off the ladder and broke his neck, 
and when the old man broke his neck the great 
walnut tree fell down with a crash and upset 
the old form and house, and the house, 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 95 

falling, knocked the window out, and the 
window knocked the door down, and the door 
upset the broom, and the broom upset the 
stool, and poor little Tatty Mouse was buried 
beneath the ruins. 

Joseph Jacobs. 

THE STORY OF THE THREE BEARS 

Once upon a time there were three bears 
who lived together in a house of their own 
in a wood. One of them was a great huge 
father bear, and one was a middle-sized 
mother bear, and the other was a little wee 
baby bear. 

They each had a bowl for their porridge: 
a great bowl for the father bear, and a middle- 
sized bowl for the mother bear, and a wee 
little bowl for the little bear. And they had 
each a chair to sit in: a great chair for the 
father bear, and a middle-sized chair for the 
mother bear, and a little chair for the little 
bear. And they had each a bed to sleep in: 
a great bed for the father bear, and a middle- 
sized bed for the mother bear, and a little 
bed for the little bear. 

One day after they had made the porridge 



96 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

for their breakfast, and poured it into their 
porridge pots, they walked out into the wood 
while the porridge was cooling, that they 
might not burn their mouths by beginning 
too soon to eat it. And while they were out, 
a little old woman came to the house. 

She was a very inquisitive little old woman, 
for first she looked in the window, then she 
lifted the latch and opened the door and 
walked in. 

There on the table she saw the three bowls 
of porridge, and she set about helping herself. 

First she tasted the porridge of the great 
huge bear, and that was too hot for her. 

Then she tasted the porridge of the middle- 
sized bear, and that was too cold for her. 

And then she went to the porridge of the 
little wee bear, and that was neither too 
cold nor too hot, but just right, and she 
liked it so well that she ate it all up. 

Then the little old woman sat down in 
the chair of the great huge bear, and that was 
too hard for her. 

Then she sat down in the chair of the 
middle-sized bear, and that was too soft for 
her. 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 97 

And then she sat down in the chair of the 
little wee bear, and that was neither too hard 
nor too soft, but just right, so she seated her- 
self there, but she sat down so hard that the 
bottom fell out. 

Then the little old woman went upstairs 
to the bed chamber where the three bears 
slept. 

First she lay down upon the bed of the 
great huge bear, but that was too high. 

Then she lay down on the bed of the middle- 
sized bear, but that was too low for her. 

And then she lay down upon the bed of the 
little wee bear, and that was neither too high 
nor too low, but just right, so she lay there 
till she fell fast asleep. 

But by this time the three bears thought 
their porridge would be cool enough,^so^they 
came home to breakfast. 

Now the little old woman had left the spoon 
of the great father bear standing in his 
porridge. 

"SOMEBODY HAS BEEN TASTING 
MY PORRIDGE," said the father bear in 
his great gruff voice. 

And when the mother bear looked at hers 



98 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

she saw that the spoon was standing in it 
too. 

" Somebody has been tasting my por- 
ridge," said the mother bear in her middle- 
sized voice. 

Then the little wee bear looked at his, 
and there was the spoon in the bowl, but the 
porridge was all gone. 

"Somebody has been tasting my porridge, 
and has eaten it all up, 11 said the little wee 
bear in his little wee voice. 

Upon this the three bears began to look 
about them. Now the little old woman had 
not put the cushion straight when she rose 
from the chair of the great huge bear. 

"SOMEBODY HAS BEEN SITTING IN 
MY CHAIR," said the father bear in his 
great gruff voice. 

Now the little old woman had knocked 
down the cushion from the chair of the middle- 
sized bear. 

"Somebody has been sitting in my 
chair," said the mother bear in her 
middle-sized voice. 

Now you know what the little old woman 
had done to the chair of the little bear. 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 99 

"Somebody has been sitting in my chair, 
and has sat the bottom out of it" said the 
little wee bear in his little wee voice. 

Then the three bears decided to make 
further search, so they went upstairs into 
their bed chamber. Now the little old woman 
had pulled the pillow of the great huge bear 
out of its place. 

"SOMEBODY HAS BEEN LYING ON 
MY BED," said the father bear in his great 
gruff voice. 

And the little old woman had pulled off 
the coverlet of the middle-sized bear. 

"Somebody has been lying on my bed," 
said the mother bear in her middle-sized 
voice. 

When the little wee bear came to look 
at his bed, there was the coverlet in its place, 
and the pillow in its place, and there on the 
bed was the little old woman. 

"Somebody has been lying on my bed, and 
here she is" said the little wee bear in his 
little wee voice. 

The little old woman had heard in her sleep 
the great gruff voice of the father bear, but 
it sounded in her sleep like the rumbling of 



ioo THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

thunder; and she had heard the middle- 
sized voice of the mother bear, but it was 
only as if she had heard some one speaking 
in a dream; but when she heard the little wee 
voice of the little wee bear, it was so sharp 
and so shrill that it wakened her at once. 

Up she started, and when she saw the three 
bears at one side of the bed she tumbled her- 
self out at the other, and ran to the window. 
Now the window was open and out the little 
old woman jumped and away she ran into 
the wood, and what became of her I cannot 
tell, but the three bears never saw anything 
more of her. 

GOLDEN HAIR AND THE THREE 
BEARS 

Once upon a time there were three bears 
who lived in a little house in the forest. 

There was the great huge father bear and 
the middle-sized mother bear and the tiny 
baby bear. 

One morning the mother bear made the 
porridge for their breakfast and poured it 
into their bowls to cool, a great big bowl for 
the father bear and a middle-sized bowl for 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 101 

the mother bear and a little wee bowl for the 
baby bear. 

"Now, my dears/' said the father bear, 
"we will go for a walk while our porridge 
is cooling." 

So the great huge father bear and the 
middle-sized mother bear and the tiny baby 
bear all went for a walk in the woods. 

Near the woods where the bears lived there 
lived a little girl whose hair was so yellow 
that she was called "Golden Hair." She 
loved to gather the flowers that grew among 
the grass and under the trees. 

On this morning she said to her mother, 
"Please, mother, let me go and gather some 
flowers, they are so beautiful to-day." 

"If you will not go into the deep woods, 
you may go," said her mother. 

"No, I will not go far," said Golden Hair, 
but she was a very thoughtless little girl, 
and she went on and on, gathering flowers, 
until she had a great bunch, as many as her 
hands could hold, but when she looked up she 
was in the heart of the deep woods. No one an- 
swered when she called, and she ran on and 
on, until she was too tired to run any farther. 



102 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

Just then she saw a little house not far 
away among the trees. "Some one here will 
surely tell me the way home, ,, said the little 
girl, and she ran to the little house and 
knocked on the door. 

No one answered, so Golden Hair opened 
the door and walked in. On the table she 
saw three bowls of porridge. She was very 
hungry, so she ran to the table and tasted 
the porridge in the great big bowl, but it 
was very salt; then she tasted the porridge 
in the middle-sized bowl, but that was too 
sweet; so she tasted the porridge in the little 
wee bowl, and that was just right, and she 
ate and she ate until the porridge was all 
gone. 

She looked around the room and she saw 
three chairs, a great huge chair and a middle- 
sized chair and a little wee chair. First she 
sat down in the great huge chair, but that 
was too high for her; and then she sat down 
in the middle-sized chair, but that was too 
low for her; so then she sat down in the little 
wee chair, and that was just right, and she 
rocked and she rocked until she fell over and 
broke the chair. 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 103 

Then Golden Hair thought she would go 
upstairs and see what there might be up 
there. There she saw three beds, a great 
huge bed and a middle-sized bed and a little 
wee bed. First she lay down on the great 
huge bed, but that was too hard for her; 
so then she lay down on the middle-sized 
bed, but that was too soft for her; so then 
she tried the little wee bed, and that was so 
comfortable that before she knew it she 
was fast asleep. 

Just then the three bears who lived in 
the house came home from their walk. See- 
ing the door open, they hurried in. 

"SOMEBODY HAS BEEN EATING 
MY PORRIDGE !" growled the great huge 
bear. 

"Somebody has been eating my por- 
ridge! " snarled the middle-sized bear. 

"Somebody has been at my porridge and 
eaten it all up!" cried the little wee bear. 

Then the bears looked around to see who 
had been in their house. 

"SOMEBODY HAS BEEN SITTING 
IN MY CHAIR !" growled the great huge 
bear. 



104 the story teller's book 

" Somebody has been sitting in my 
chair !" snarled the middle-sized bear. 

"Somebody has been sitting in my chair 
and broke it to pieces!" cried the little wee 
bear. 

Then the bears decided to go upstairs to 
look for the intruder. The great huge bear 
went first, and the middle-sized bear came 
next, and last of all came the little wee bear. 

"SOMEBODY HAS BEEN LYING ON 
MY BED!" growled the great huge bear. 

"Somebody has been lying on my bed!" 
snarled the middle-sized bear. 

"Somebody has been lying on my bed" cried 
the little wee bear, "and here she is!" 

Now the voice of the great huge bear had 
sounded to Golden Hair like thunder; and 
the voice of the middle-sized bear had sounded 
like the wind in the tree tops; but the voice 
of the little wee bear was so shrill that it 
woke her up. 

When she opened her eyes and saw the 
three bears looking angrily at her she was so 
frightened that she rolled off the bed on the 
farther side and, running to the window, she 
jumped out. 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 105 

On and on she ran until finally she came 
to the path that led to her home. When she 
reached her home she was so tired she could 
hardly tell her mother what a naughty child 
she had been, and she never again strayed 
into the heart of the deep woods where the 
bears lived. 

THE THREE LITTLE PIGS 

Once upon a time there was an old mother 
pig who had three little pigs. The name of 
the first was Whitey, for he was all white; 
the name of the second was Blacky, for he 
was all black; and the name of the third was 
Spotty, for he was black and white. 

One day the old mother pig called the three 
little pigs and said to them: 

"My dear little pigs, it is time for you to 
go out in the world and seek your fortune. 
You must each build a house for yourself, 
but be sure to build your house of brick, for 
if you do not the old wolf will come and eat 
you up. I have here a carrot, and a potato, 
and a turnip. You, Whitey, may take your 
choice, for you are the eldest and must go 
first." 



106 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

Whitey chose the carrot. He put it under 
his arm, and said good-by to his mother and 
brothers, and off he started to seek his 
fortune. 

He had not gone far before he met a man 
carrying some glass. He said to himself, 
"I think a glass house would be nicer than 
a brick one." So he said, "Man, man, will 
you give me some glass to make a house? 
For I have none to live in." 

"Certainly I will, little pig," said the man. 
So the little pig made himself a nice glass 
house, and sat down inside to eat his carrot. 

Before very long the old wolf came by. 
When he saw the little pig in the glass house 
he went to the door and knocked. 

"Tiny pig, tiny pig, let me come in," said 
the old wolf. 

"No, no, by the hair on my chinny, chin, 
chin!" said the tiny pig. 

"Then I'll huff and I'll puff till I blow your 
house in," said the wolf, and he did, and ate 
up the tiny pig, and that was the end of the 
first little pig. 

Blacky was the next little pig to seek his 
fortune. He chose the turnip, but he ate it 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 107 

up at once. Then saying good-by he went 
off down the road. He had not gone far 
before he met a man carrying paper. He 
said to himself, for he was a lazy little pig, 
"I think a paper house would be easier to 
build than a brick one." So he said, "Man, 
man, will you give me some paper to make a 
house? For I have none to live in." 

"Certainly I will, little pig," said the man. 
So the little pig made himself a paper house 
and went to sleep inside. 

Presently the old wolf came by, and he 
went to the door and knocked. 

"Tiny pig, tiny pig, let me come in, or I'll 
huff and I'll puff till I blow your house in!" 

But the tiny pig did not hear, for he was 
asleep. So the old wolf huffed and puffed, 
but he could not break the house in. But, 
before long, a shower of rain came up. The 
paper house got wet, and the old wolf huffed 
and puffed and got in, and ate up the tiny 
pig, and that was the end of the second little 

Pig. 

Now it was Spotty's turn to seek his for- 
tune. The potato was left for him, and put- 
ting it in a little basket and hanging it on 



108 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

his arm, he said good-by to his mother and 
went off down the road. First he met a 
man carrying glass, but he remembered what 
his mother had said and he did not ask for 
any glass. 

Next he met a man carrying paper, but he 
remembered what his mother had said and 
did not ask for any paper. 

He walked on and on, till at last he met 
a man carrying bricks. 

"Man, man, will you give me some bricks 
to build a house? For I have none to live in." 

"Certainly I will, little pig," said the man. 
So the little pig built himself a nice brick 
house, with a door and a window and a fine 
red chimney. He went inside and made a 
fire in the stove and put on the potato to boil. 

Presently the old wolf came by. He did 
not look so pleasant when he saw this little 
pig's house, but he went to the door and 
knocked, and he said: 

"Tiny pig, tiny pig, let me come in!" 

"No, no, not by the hair on my chinny, 
chin, chin!" said the tiny pig. 

"Then I'll huff and I'll puff till I blow your 
house in!" said the old wolf. 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 109 

So he huffed and puffed, but he could not 
blow the house in. Then he sat down to wait 
for a shower of rain. But, when the rain 
came, he huffed and he puffed, but still he 
could not blow the house in, so then he 
went to the door and said: 

"Tiny pig, tiny pig, won't you let the tip 
of my nose in?" 

"No," said the tiny pig. 

"Tiny pig, tiny pig, won't you let me put 
my paw in?" 

"No," said the tiny pig. 

"Tiny pig, tiny pig, won't you let me put 
the tip of my ear in?" 

"No," said the tiny pig. 

"Tiny pig, tiny pig, will you let the tip 
of my tail in?" 

"No," said the tiny pig. 

"Then I will climb up on the roof and come 
down through the chimney," said the wolf. 

But the tiny pig made the fire hotter, and 
when the old wolf came down the chimney he 
was burned up, and that was the end of him. 

The tiny pig sent for his mother and they 
ate the potato together and lived happily 
ever after in the little brick house. 



no THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

THE STORY OF THE THREE LITTLE 
PIGS 1 

Once upon a time when pigs spoke rhyme, 
And monkeys chewed tobacco, 
And hens took snuff to make them tough, 
And ducks went quack, quack, quack, O! 

There was an old sow with three little pigs, 
and as she had not enough to keep them, 
she sent them out to seek their fortune. The 
first that went off met a man with a bundle 
of straw, and said to him: 

"Please, man, give me that straw to build 
me a house/ ' 

Which the man did, and the little pig built 
a house with it. Presently came along a 
wolf, and knocked at the door, and said: 

"Little pig, little pig, let me come in." 

To which the pig answered: 

"No, no, by the hair of my chinny, chin, 
chin!" 

The wolf then answered to that: 

" Then 1 11 huff, and 1 11 puff, and 1 11 blow 
your house in." 

So he huffed, and he puffed, and he blew 
his house in, and ate up the little pig. 

1 From "English Fairy Tales" By permission of the publishers, G. P. 
Putnam's Sons, New York and London. 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK III 

The second little pig met a man with a 
bundle of furze, and said: 

"Please, man, give me that furze to build 
a house/ ' 

Which the man did, and the pig built his 
house. Then along came the wolf, and said: 

"Little pig, little pig, let me come in." 

"No, no, by the hair of my chinny, chin, 
chin!" 

" Then I '11 puff, and I '11 huff, and I '11 blow 
your house in." 

So he huffed, and he puffed, and he puffed, 
and he huffed, and at last he blew the house 
down, and he ate up the little pig. 

The third little pig met a man with a load 
of bricks, and said: 

"Please, man, give me those bricks to build 
a house with." 

So the man gave him the bricks, and he built 
his house with them. And the wolf came, 
as he did to the other little pigs, and said: 

"Little pig, little pig, let me come in." 

"No, no, by the hair of my chinny, chin, 
chin!" 

"Then I'll huff, and Til puff, and I'll 
blow your house in." 



ii2 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

Well, he huffed, and he puffed, and he 
huffed, and he puffed, and he puffed and he 
huffed; but he could not get the house down. 
When he found that he could not, with all 
his huffing and puffing, blow the house 
down, he said: 

" Little pig, I know where there is a nice 
field of turnips/ ' 

"Where?" said the little pig. 

"Oh, in Mr. Smith's Home-field, and if 
you will be ready to-morrow morning I will 
call for you, and we will go together, and 
get some for dinner.' ' 

"Very well," said the little pig, "I will be 
ready. What time do you mean to go?" 

"Oh, at six o'clock." 

Well, the little pig got up at five, and got 
the turnips before the wolf came (which he 
did about six) and who said: 

"Little pig, are you ready?" 

The little pig said: "Ready! I have been 
and come back again, and got a nice potful 
for dinner." 

The wolf felt very angry at this, but thought 
that he would be up to the little pig somehow 
or other, so he said: 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 113 

"Little pig, I know where there is a nice 
apple tree." 

"Where?" said the pig. 

"Down at Merry-garden," replied the wolf. 
" If you will not deceive me I will come for you 
at five o'clock to-morrow and get some apples." 

Well, the little pig bustled up the next 
morning at four o'clock, and went off for the 
apples, hoping to get back before the wolf 
came; but he had farther to go, and had to 
climb the tree, so that just as he was coming 
down from it he saw the wolf coming, which, 
as you may suppose, frightened him very 
much. When the wolf came up he said: 

"Little pig, what! are you here before me? 
Are they nice apples?" 

"Yes, very," said the little pig. "I will 
throw you down one." 

And he threw it so far, that, while the wolf 
was gone to pick it up, the little pig jumped 
down and ran home. The next day the wolf 
came again, and said to the little pig: 

"Little pig, there is a fair at Shanklin this 
afternoon. Will you go?" 

"Oh, yes," said the pig, "I will go. What 
time shall you be ready?" 



114 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

"At three," said the wolf. So the little 
pig went off before the time as usual, and got 
to the fair, and bought a butter churn, which 
he was going home with when he saw the 
wolf coming. Then he could not tell what 
to do. So he got into the churn to hide, and 
by so doing turned it round, and it rolled 
down the hill with the pig in it, which fright- 
ened the wolf so much that he ran home with- 
out going to the fair. He went to the little 
pig's house, and told him how frightened he 
had been by a great round thing which came 
down the hill past him. Then the little pig 
said: 

"Hah, I frightened you, then. I had been 
to the fair and bought a butter churn, and 
when I saw you I got into it, and rolled down 
the hill." 

Then the wolf was very angry indeed, and 
declared he would eat up the little pig, and 
that he would get down the chimney after 
him. When the little pig saw what he was 
about, he hung on the pot full of water, and 
made up a blazing fire, and, just as the wolf 
was coming down, took off the cover, and in 
fell the wolf. So that was the end of the old 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 115 

wolf, and the little pig lived happy ever after- 
ward. 

Joseph Jacobs. 

THE SHEEP AND THE PIG THAT 
BUILT THE HOUSE 

There was once upon a time a sheep who 
stood in his pen to be fattened, so he lived 
well and every day he had all that he could 
eat. So it went on until one day when the 
dairy maid came to bring him his food, she 
said: 

"Eat away, sheep; you won't be here much 
longer. To-morrow we are going to kill 
you. ,, 

But the sheep ate until he was ready to 
burst; and when he had finished he butted 
out the door of his pen and took his way to 
the neighboring farm. 

There he went straight to the pigsty, where 
there lived a pig whom he had met out on 
the common. 

"Good day," said the sheep, "and thanks 
for your kindness the last time we met." 

"Good day," said the pig, "and the same 
to you." 



n6 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

"Do you know why they feed you and 
make you so comfortable ?" said the sheep. 

"No," said the pig. 

" Because they are going to kill you and eat 
you, " said the sheep. 

"Much good may it do them, " said the pig. 

" If you will come with me, " said the sheep, 
"we will go to the woods and build us a 
house, and there we can live very comfort- 
ably." 

Yes, the pig was willing. "Good company 
is a fine thing, " he said, and so the two set off. 

When they had gone a bit farther they met 
a goose. 

"Good day, good sirs," said the goose, 
"and thanks for our last merry meeting. 
Where are you going to-day?" 

"Good day to you, " said the sheep. " You 
must know we were too well treated at home, 
and so we are going to the woods to build 
a house for ourselves. " 

"May I go with you?" said the goose. 
"For it's child's play when three share the 
day." 

"What can you do to build a house?" said 
the pig. 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 117 

"I can pull moss and stuff it in the cracks 
and make your house tight and warm," said 
the goose. 

Yes, she might go with them, for above all 
things the pig wished to be warm and com- 
fortable. 

So when they had gone a little farther, for 
the goose found it hard work to keep up with 
them, they met a hare, who came frisking 
out of the wood. 

"Good day, sirs, and thanks for our last 
merry meeting. How far are you traveling 
to-day?" said he. 

"Good day, and the same to you," said 
the sheep. "We were far too well off at 
home, and so we are going to the wood to 
build us a house; for you know there is 
nothing like home. " 

"As for that," said the hare, "I have a 
home in every bush; but yet I have often 
said in winter, if I only live till summer I'll 
build me a house; and so I have half a mind 
to go with you." 

"We might take you along to frighten away 
the dogs," said the pig, "but I don't know 
what you can do toward building a house." 



u8 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

"There is always work for willing hands, " 
said the hare. "I have teeth to gnaw pegs, 
and paws to drive them into the wall, so I 
can very well set up to be a carpenter. " 

Yes, he too might go with them and help 
to build the house. 

When they had gone a bit farther they met 
a cock. 

1 'Good day, good sirs," said the cock, 
"where are you going to-day, gentlemen ?" 

"Good day, and the same to you," said 
the sheep. "At home we were too well off, 
and so we are going to the woods to build 
us a house." 

"Well," said the cock, "that is just my 
case. Now, if I might have leave to join 
such a gallant company, I also would like 
to go to the woods and build a house." 

"How can you ever help us to build a 
house?" said the pig. 

"Oh," said the cock, "I am up early and 
I can wake every one." 

"Very true, " said the pig. " Let him come 
with us." 

So they all set off to the wood to build a 
house. The pig cut down the timber and the 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK ng 

sheep drew it home; the hare was carpenter, 
and gnawed pegs and bolts, and hammered 
them into the walls and roof ; the goose pulled 
moss and stuffed it into the cracks; the cock 
crew and looked out that they did not over- 
sleep in the morning. And when the house 
was ready, and the roof lined with birch bark 
and covered with turf, there they lived by 
themselves and were well and merry. 

" 'Tis good to travel east and west/' said 
the sheep, "but after all, a home is best. " 

Adapted from the Norwegian. 

DRAKESBILL 

Drakesbill was a very little fellow, but he 
had learned to be a great worker, and all 
that he earned he hid away for safe keeping, 
so that before he was grown he had a bagful 
of gold hidden in the chimney cupboard. 
But when one has gold pieces the fact is 
apt to leak out, and soon the king heard of 
DrakesbilFs great wealth. Now the king 
was always in need of money, so he sent for 
Drakesbill and asked to borrow the gold 
of him, assuring him that in a year's time he 
would pay it back. 



120 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

Drakesbill was a good fellow, and he readily 
agreed to loan his majesty his gold. 

Then Drakesbill worked harder than ever, 
thinking that he would surely be a great man 
some day. 

A year went by, two years, but still the king 
had not returned Drakesbill's money, nor did 
he answer the letters the little fellow sent him. 

Finally Drakesbill said, "I shall have to 
go to the king and demand my money. " So 
without delay he set off for the king's palace. 

The day was fine, and as he walked along, 
as fresh as a daisy, whom should he meet 
but his friend Fox returning from his nightly 
prowling in the barnyards. 

"Good morning, Drakesbill, " said the fox. 
"Where are you bound ?" 

"Oh, I'm going to the king to get my 
money back," answered Drakesbill. 

"Let me go with you, " said the fox. 

"A friend in need is very convenient," 
said Drakesbill to himself. "All right, friend 
Fox," said he, "make yourself very small 
and creep into my pocket. " 

The fox did as he was bid, and away went 
Drakesbill as merry as a grig. 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 121 

A little farther on Drakesbill came upon 
his friend Ladder leaning against the wall. 
| ' ' Good morning, friend, ' ' said she. ' ' Whither 
away this fine spring day? " 

11 1 am going to ask the king to pay me what 
he owes me, " said Drakesbill. 

"Let me go with you," said the ladder. 
"Perhaps I can be of use to you. " 

"One cannot have too many friends," 
thought Drakesbill, and aloud he said, "All 
right; make yourself very small and creep 
under my wing." 

The ladder did as she was bid, and Drakes- 
bill continued on his way. Soon he came to 
his good friend, the river. 

"Good morning, little one," said the river. 
"Whither are you bound?" 

"Oh, I am going to ask the king to pay me 
my money, " said Drakesbill. 

"Please let me go with you, " said the river. 
"Perhaps you will need me before your 
journey is over." 

"All right, little friend," said Drakesbill. 
" Make yourself very small and creep into my 
pocket." 

So the river did as she was bid, and then 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 



Drakesbill went singing along his way. A little 
farther on he met the waspnest out for an 
airing. 

"Good morning, neighbor, " said the wasp- 
nest. " Where are you going? " 

" I am going to ask the king to pay me what 
he owes me," said Drakesbill. 

"Let me go with you," said the waspnest. 
"I have never seen the king." 

"'It is better to be on the right side of a 
waspnest, " thought Drakesbill. " Come, then, 
friend Waspnest," said he; "make yourself 
very small and creep into my pocket." 

So the waspnest made itself very small, 
and the wasps packed themselves closely 
together and stored themselves away in 
Drakesbill's pocket, while he continued on 
his way. 

By and by he came to the king's palace. 
Reaching up as high as he could, Drakesbill 
knocked, ratty, tat, tat, on the door. Up 
jumped the king's guard. 

"What do you want?" said he. 

"I have come to see the king," replied 
Drakesbill. 

"The king. is busy counting his money," 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 123 

said the guard; "he cannot be bothered by- 
little fellows like you." 

"But the king owes me money," said 
Drakesbill. "Just tell him Drakesbill is 
here, and I am sure he will let me in." 

Off went the guard with the message. 

"Drakesbill, indeed!" roared the king. 
"Show him into the poultry yard. That is 
his proper place." 

"Step this way," said the guard to 
Drakesbill, who was proud and happy because 
at last he was to meet the king. 

But before Drakesbill knew what had hap- 
pened to him, the guard had opened the door 
into the poultry yard and thrust him in. The 
fowls looked at him, and seeing he was alone 
and friendless, one and all began to peck him. 

Drakesbill feared they would kill him, when 
suddenly he remembered friend Fox, hidden 
away in his pocket. 

"Friend Fox," he cried, "help me, or I 
shall be killed!" 

The fox did not need a second bidding. 
Out he sprang, and snip, snap, off went the 
heads of geese, and turkeys, and ducks, until 
not one was left of all the crowd. 



i2 4 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

Hearing the confusion, the poultry woman 
and the cook and the king's guard all ran into 
the yard, but there was only Drakesbill, 
strutting about unharmed, and calling out, 
" Quack! quack! quack! I want my money 
back!" 

Away they ran to tell the king what had 
happened. 

' 'Wants his money back, does he?" roared 
the king in a rage. "Throw him down the 
well, and see if that will cool his spirits. " 

Then the cook and the guard and the 
poultry woman rushed into the yard and 
seized Drakesbill, and down he went tumbling 
to the bottom of the well. 

Drakesbill was frightened almost to death 
until he remembered the ladder tucked away 
under his wing. 

"Oh, friend Ladder," cried he, "come out 
and help me!" 

Out jumped the ladder, and planting her 
feet firmly on the bottom of the well, she 
reached up her long arms to the top, and hop, 
hop, hop, up went Drakesbill. 

When the king looked out of his window 
and saw Drakesbill, unharmed, strutting 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 125 

around the yard and still calling loudly for 
his money, he was more angry than before. 

"What!" shouted the king. "Does he 
defy me? Build a great fire and burn him. 
He cannot escape that!" 

So they built a great fire, but just as they 
were going to throw Drakesbill into the 
flames he remembered friend River hidden 
away in his pocket. 

"Come, River!" called the little fellow. 
"If you do not help me I shall perish!" 

Out jumped the river, and soon the water 
had spread over all the courtyard, and the 
fire was a pile of smouldering cinders. 

But the river did not stop at this. Into 
the palace the water poured, covering all the 
floor. The king and his guards climbed on 
the chairs and tables, but Drakesbill swam 
about in the water as happy as could be. 
"I want my money back, I want my money 
back," sang he. 

"Can no one stop this insolent fellow?" 
shouted the king, beside himself with rage. 

The guards were about to seize poor 
Drakesbill when he bethought himself of the 
waspnest, tucked away in his pocket. 



126 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

"Come, Waspnest, " cried he, "now is the 
time to show your friendship for me. " 

Out sprang the waspnest, and calling to 
his children, away they flew, stinging every 
one in sight. The king and the courtiers 
and the guards could not escape, try as they 
might, so out of the palace they ran, so fast 
and so far that no one ever saw them again. 

When the people in the streets heard the 
confusion and saw the king running away, 
they came hurrying into the palace, to see 
what it was all about. 

As Drakesbill was very tired with fluttering 
about, he flew up into the king's chair to rest. 
When the people saw him sitting there they 
cried, "Drakesbill is king! Drakesbill is king! 
Long live the king!" and they brought the 
crown and placed it on his head. 

"He does not look much like a king," 
whispered one idle fellow to another, but the 
people hushed them. 

"At least he will not spend all our money, " 
said they. 

So Drakesbill reigned over that country 
for many years, and peace and plenty blessed 
the land. 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 127 

MR. MIACCA 1 

Tommy Grimes was sometimes a good boy, 
and sometimes a bad boy; and when he was 
a bad boy, he was a very bad boy. Now his 
mother used to say to him: "Tommy, 
Tommy, be a good boy, and don't go out of 
the street, or else Mr. Miacca will take you." 
But still when he was a bad boy he would 
go out of the street ; and one day, sure enough, 
he had scarcely got round the corner, when 
Mr. Miacca did catch him and popped him 
into a bag upside down, and took him off 
to his house. 

When Mr. Miacca got Tommy inside he 
pulled him out of the bag and set him down, 
and felt his arms and legs. " You're rather 
tough," says he; "but you're all I've got 
for supper, and you'll not taste bad boiled. 
But body o' me, I've forgot the herbs, and 
it's bitter you'll taste without herbs. Sally! 
Here, I say, Sally!" and he called Mrs. 
Miacca. 

So Mrs. Miacca came out of another room 
and said: "What d'ye want, my dear?" 

1 From "English Fairy Tales." By permission of the publishers, G. P. 
Putnam's Sons, New York and London. 



128 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

"Oh, here's a little boy for supper, " said 
Mr. Miacca, "and Fve forgot the herbs. 
Mind him, will ye, while I go for them." 

"All right, my love," says Mrs. Miacca, 
and off he goes. 

Then Tommy Grimes said to Mrs. Miacca: 
"Does Mr. Miacca always have little boys 
for supper?" 

"Mostly, my dear," said Mrs. Miacca, 
"if little boys are bad enough, and get in 
his way." 

"And don't you have anything else but 
boy-meat? No pudding?" asked Tommy. 

"Ah, I loves pudding," says Mrs. Miacca. 
"But it's not often the likes of me gets 
pudding." 

"Why, my mother is making a pudding 
this very day," said Tommy Grimes, "and 
I am sure she'd give you some, if I ask her. 
Shall I run and get some?" 

"Now, that's a thoughtful boy," said Mrs. 
Miacca; "only don't be long, and be sure to 
be back for supper." 

So off Tommy peltered, and right glad 
he was to get off so cheap; and for many a 
long day he was as good as good could be, 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 129 

and never went round the corner of the 
street. But he couldn't always be good; 
and one day he went round the corner, and 
as luck would have it, he had scarcely got 
round it when Mr. Miacca grabbed him up, 
popped him in his bag, and took him home. 

When he got him there Mr. Miacca dropped 
him out; and when he saw him, he said: 
"Ah, you're the youngster that served me 
and my missus such a shabby trick, leaving 
us without any supper. Well, you shan't 
do it again. I'll watch over you myself. 
Here, get under the sofa, and I'll set on it 
and watch the pot boil for you." 

So poor Tommy Grimes had to creep under 
the sofa, and Mr. Miacca sat on it and waited 
for the pot to boil. And they waited, and 
they waited, but still the pot didn't boil, 
till at last Mr. Miacca got tired of waiting, 
and he said: "Here, you under there, I'm 
not going to wait any longer; put out your 
leg, and I'll stop your giving us the slip." 

So Tommy put out a leg, and Mr. Miacca 
got a chopper, and chopped it off, and pops 
it in the pot. 

Suddenly he calls out: "Sally, my dear, 



130 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

Sally !" and nobody answered. So he went 

into the next room to look out for Mrs. 

Miacca, and while he was there Tommy crept 

out from under the sofa and ran out of the 

door. For it was a leg of the sofa that he 

had put out. 

So Tommy Grimes ran home, and he never 

went round the corner again till he was old 

enough to go alone. 

Joseph Jacobs. 

THE STREET MUSICIANS 1 

A donkey who had carried sacks to the 
mill for his master a great many years became 
so weak that he could not work for a living 
any longer. His master thought that he 
would get rid of his old servant, that he might 
save the cost of his food. The donkey heard 
of this, and made up his mind to run away. 
So he took the road to a great city where he 
had often heard the street band play. ' ' For, ' ' 
thought he, "I can make music as well as 
they." 

He had gone but a little way when he came 
to a dog stretched out in the middle of the 

1 From "Classic Stories for the Little Ones." By permission of the Public 
School Publishing Co., Bloomington, 111. 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 131 

road and panting for breath, as if tired from 
running. 

"Why are you panting so, friend?" asked 
the donkey. 

"Oh, dear!" he replied. "Now that I am 
old and growing weaker and weaker, and am 
not able to hunt any more, my master has 
ordered that I be killed. So I have run away, 
but how I am to earn a living I am sure I do 
not know." 

"Will you come with me?" said the don- 
key. "You see, I am going to try my luck 
as a street musician in the city. I think 
we might easily earn a living by music. You 
can play the bass drum and I can play the 
flute." 

"I will go," said the dog, and they both 
walked on together. 

Not long after they saw a cat sitting in 
the road, with a face as dismal as three days 
of rainy weather. 

"Now what has happened to you, old 
Whiskers?" said the donkey. 

"How can I be happy when I am in fear 
for my life? " said the cat. "I am getting old, 
and my teeth are only stumps. I cannot 



132 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

catch mice any longer, and I like to lie 
behind the stove and purr. But when I 
found that they were going to drown me, 
away I ran as fast as my four legs could carry 
me. But now that I have come away, what 
am I to do?" 

"Go with us to the city," said the donkey. 
"You often give night concerts, I know, so 
you can easily become a street musician." 

"With all my heart," said the cat, so she 
walked on with them. 

After traveling quite a long distance the 
three " runaways " came to a farmyard, and 
on the gate stood a rooster, crowing with all 
his might. 

"Why are you standing there and making 
such a fuss?" said the donkey. 

"I will tell you," replied the rooster. "I 
heard the cook say that there is company 
coming on Wednesday and she will want me 
to put into the soup. That evening my head 
will be cut off, so I shall crow at the top of 
my voice as long as I can. " 

"Listen, Red Comb," said the donkey. 
"Would you like to run away with us? We 
are going to the city, and you will find 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 133 

something better there than to be made into 
soup. You have a fine voice, and we are 
all musicians/ ' 

The rooster was glad to go, and all four 
went on together. 

They could not reach the city in one day, 
and evening came on just as they reached a 
wood, so they agreed to stay there all night. 

The donkey and the dog lay down under a 
large tree, the cat stretched herself out on 
one of the branches, and the rooster flew 
to the top, where he felt quite safe. 

Before they slept the rooster, who from his 
high roost could see every way, spied far off 
a tiny light, and calling to his comrades told 
them he thought they were near a house in 
which a light was shining. 

"Then, " said the donkey, "we must rouse 
up and go on to this light, for no doubt we 
shall find a good stopping place there. " 

The dog said he would be glad of a little 
piece of meat, or a couple of bones if he could 
get nothing more. 

Very soon they were on their way to the 
place where the light shone. It grew larger 
and brighter as they came nearer to it, till 



134 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

they saw that it came from the window of a 
small hut. The donkey, who was the tallest, 
went near and looked in. 

"What is to be seen, old Gray Horse?" 
said the rooster. 

"What do I see?" answered the donkey. 
"Why, a table spread with plenty to eat and 
drink, and robbers sitting at it and having 
a good time." 

"That ought to be our supper," said the 
rooster. 

"Yes, yes," the donkey answered, "how 
I wish we were inside." 

Then they talked together about how they 
should drive the robbers away. At last they 
made a plan that they thought would work. 
The donkey was to stand on his hind legs and 
place his forefeet on the windowsill. The 
dog was to stand on his back. The cat was 
to stand on the dog's shoulders, and the rooster 
promised to light upon the cat's head. 

As soon as they were all ready they began 
to play their music together. The donkey 
brayed, the dog barked, the cat mewed, the 
rooster crowed. They made such a noise 
that the window rattled. 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 135 

The robbers, hearing the dreadful din, 
were terribly frightened, and ran as fast as 
they could to the woods. The four comrades, 
rushing in, hurried to the table and ate as 
if they had had nothing for a month. When 
they had finished their meal they put out the 
light, and each one chose a good bed for 
the night. The donkey lay down at full length 
in the yard, the dog crouched behind the door, 
the cat rolled herself up on the hearth in front 
of the fire, while the rooster flew to the roof 
of the hut. They were all so tired after their 
long journey that they were soon fast asleep. 

About midnight one of the robbers, seeing 
that the light was out and all quiet, said to 
his chief: "I do not think that we had any 
reason to be afraid, after all." 

Then he called one of his robbers and sent 
him to the house to see if it was all right. 

The robber, finding everything quiet, went 
into the kitchen to light a match. Seeing 
the glaring, fiery eyes of the cat, he thought 
they were live coals, and held a match toward 
them that he might light it. But Puss was 
frightened; she spit at him and scratched his 
face. This frightened the robber so terribly 



i 3 6 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

that he rushed to the door, but the dog, who 
lay there, sprang out at him and bit him on 
the leg as he went by. 

In the yard he ran against the donkey, who 
gave him a savage kick, while the rooster on 
the roof cried out as loud as he could, " Cock- 
a-doodle-doo. " 

Then the robber ran back to his chief. 

"Oh! oh!" he cried, "in that house is a 
horrible woman, who flew at me and scratched 
me down the face with her long fingers. 
Then by the door stood a man with a knife, 
who stabbed me in the leg, and out in the 
yard lay a monster who struck me a hard 
blow with a huge club; and up on the roof 
sat the judge, who cried, 'Bring me the 
scoundrel here.' You may be sure I ran 
away as fast as I could go." 

The robbers never went back to the house, 
but got away from that place as quickly as 
they could. The four musicians liked their 
new home so well that they thought no more 
of going on to the city. The last we heard 
of them, they were still there and having 
happy times together. 

Lida Brown McMurry. 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 137 

THE BIG RED APPLE 1 

Bobby was a little boy and he had a 
grandpa. 

One day Bobby's grandpa sat by the fire 
while Bobby lay on the hearth rug, looking 
at a picture book. 

"Ho, ho!" yawned grandpa, "I wish I had 
a big red apple! I could show you how to 
roast it, Bobby." 

Bobby jumped up as quick as a flash. 
"I'll get you one, " he said, and he picked up 
his hat and ran out of the house as fast as 
he could go. He knew where he had seen an 
apple tree away down the road — a tree all 
bright with big red apples. 

Bobby ran on by the side of the road, 
through the drift of fallen leaves, all red and 
yellow and brown. The leaves made a 
pleasant noise under his feet. At last he 
came to the big apple tree, but though Bobby 
looked and looked there was not an apple 
to be seen — not an apple on the tree nor an 
apple on the ground. 

"Oh!" cried Bobby, "where have they all 
gone?" 

From "For the Children's Hour." By permission of Milton Bradley Co.i 
Springfield, Mass. 



138 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

Then he heard a rustling all through the 
dry leaves on the tree. 

"I haven't an apple left, my dear. You'll 
have to wait till another year. " 

Bobby was surprised. "But where have 
they all gone?" he asked again. The apple 
tree only sighed. So the little boy turned 
away and started home across the fields. 

Pretty soon he met a pussy cat. "Oh, 
Pussy," he said, "do you know what they 
have done with the big red apples?" 

Pussy looked up at him and then began 
rubbing against his legs, saying: "Mew, 
mew, me-ew! I haven't a big red apple for 
you." 

So Bobby went on, and at last he met a 
friendly dog. The dog stopped and wagged 
his tail, so the little boy said to him: 

"Oh, Doggie, can you tell me what they 
have done with the big red apples?" 

The doggie kept on wagging his tail, and 
barked. 

"Bow, wow, wow! If I knew, I'd surely 
tell you now." 

So the little boy went on until he came to 
a kind old cow looking over the fence. 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 139 

"Oh, Mooey Cow," said Bobby, "will you 
tell me what has become of the big red 
apples?" 

Mooey cow rubbed her nose against him, 
and said: 

"Moo! moo-00! Fd like a big red apple 
too." 

The little boy laughed, and he walked on 
till he came to the edge of the wood, and 
there was a big, gray squirrel. 

"Hello, Gray Squirrel," said Bobby, "can 
you tell me what has become of the big red 
apples?" 

The squirrel whisked about and looked at 
Bobby. 

"The farmer has hidden them all away, to 
eat on a pleasant winter's day, " he chattered. 

Then the squirrel ran to the foot of a chest- 
nut tree and began to fill his little pockets 
with shiny nuts to carry to his own store- 
house, but Bobby said, "Oh, thank you," 
and ran up the hill to the farmer's house as 
fast as he could go. 

The farmer was standing in the door, and 
he smiled when he saw Bobby. 

"Good morning, good morning, my little 



140 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

man, " he said, "and what can I do for you?" 

" Please, " said Bobby, "I want a big red 
apple.* ' 

The farmer laughed. 

"Come with me," he said, "and you shall 
pick one out for yourself. " 

So Bobby and the farmer walked out to the 
great barn, and there Bobby saw a lot of 
barrels standing in a row, and every barrel 
was full of big red apples. 

"Oh, what a lot ! " said Bobby. "Why did 
you pick them all?" 

"We didn't want to leave them for Jack 
Frost, did we?" said the farmer. 

"Does Jack Frost like apples?" asked 
Bobby. 

"He likes to pinch them," said the farmer, 
"but we like to eat them; so we gather them 
up for winter." 

Bobby began to look about the barn. Near 
the barrels of red apples was another row of 
barrels all filled with green apples, and farther 
on was a great pile of golden pumpkins, and 
near that was a heap of green and yellow 
squashes, and another of turnips, and then 
piles of yellow corn. 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 141 

"Are you keeping all these things for win- 
ter ?" asked Bobby. 

"Yes," said the farmer, "we've been 
gathering in the harvest, all good things 
that the summer has given us. " 

"And do the squirrels gather in a harvest, 
too?" asked Bobby. 

"I reckon they do," said the farmer. 

"Then that was how he knew," said 
Bobby. 

Soon the little boy's eyes began to shine. 
"Won't you have lots of good things for 
Thanksgiving!" he said. "Pumpkin pie, and 
apple pie, and everything!" 

"Well," said the farmer, "I guess there 
is plenty to be thankful for right here. Did 
you say you wanted a red apple, sonny?" 

Bobby walked up to the barrel and picked 
out the biggest red apple he could find. 

"Thank you, Mr. Farmer," he said. And 
then he ran home to give the apple to his 
grandpa. 

"Why, why!" said grandpa, "wherever 
did you find it?" 

"Oh," said Bobby, "I went to the apple 
tree, but it didn't have any. Then I asked 



142 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

the cat where the biggest red apples were, 
but she didn't know. I asked the dog, and 
he didn't know; and then I asked the cow, 
and she didn't know; but then I asked the 
squirrel, and he knew, because he gathers a 
harvest himself. So he told me to go to the 
farmer. And I went to the farmer and asked 
him for a big red apple, and he gave me this 
great big one!" 

"Well, well," said grandpa, when Bobby 
stopped out of breath. "Now find me a bit 
of string." 

Bobby found the string, and grandpa tied 
one end of it to the stem of the apple. He 
fastened the other end of the string to the 
mantel shelf, and there the apple hung over 
the fire. 

It turned and twisted, and twisted and 
turned, while grandpa and Bobby watched 
it; and the juice sizzled out, and the apple 
grew softer and softer, and, by and by, it 
was all roasted. 

Then Bobby fetched a plate and two spoons, 
and he and grandpa sat before the fire and 
ate the big red apple. 

Kate Whiting Patch. 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 143 

THE MAGPIE'S NEST 1 

Once upon a time, when pigs spoke rhyme, 
And monkeys chewed tobacco, 
And hens took snuff to make them tough, 
And ducks went quack, quack, quack, O! 

All the birds^of the air came to the magpie 
and asked her to teach them how to build 
nests. For the magpie is the cleverest bird 
of all at building nests. So she put all the 
birds round her and began to show them how 
to do it. First of all she took some mud and 
made a sort of round cake with it. 

11 Oh, that's how it's done, " said the thrush; 
and away it flew, and so that's how thrushes 
build their nests. 

Then the magpie took some twigs and 
arranged them round in the mud. 

" Now I know all about it, " said the black- 
bird, and off he flew, and that's how the 
blackbirds make their nests to this very day. 

Then the magpie put another layer of mud 
over the twigs. 

"Oh, that's quite obvious," said the wise 
owl, and away it flew; and owls have never 
made better nests since. 

1 From "English Fairy Tales/' By permission of the publishers, G. P. 
Putnam's Sons, New York and London. 



i 4 4 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

^fter this the magpie took some twigs and 
twined them round the outside. 

"The very thing!" said the sparrow, and 
off he went; so sparrows make rather slovenly 
nests to this day. 

Then Madge Magpie took some feathers and 
stuff, and lined the nest very comfortably. 

"That suits me," cried the starling, and 
off it flew; and very comfortable nests have 
starlings. 

So it went on, every bird taking away some 
knowledge of how to build nests, but none of 
them waiting to the end. Meanwhile Madge 
Magpie went on working and working with- 
out looking up till the only bird that remained 
was the turtle-dove, and that hadn't paid 
any attention all along, but only kept on 
saying its silly cry:! "Take two, Taffy, 
take two-o-o-o. " 

At last the magpie heard this just as she 
was putting a twig across. So she said: 
"One's enough." 

But the turtle-dove kept on saying : ' ' Take 
two, Taffy, take two-o-o. " 

Then the magpie got angry and said: 
"One's enough, I tell you." 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 145 

Still the turtle-dove cried: "Take two, 
Taffy, take two-o-o." 

At last, and at last, the magpie looked up 
and saw nobody near her but the silly turtle- 
dove, and then she got rarely angry and flew 
away, and refused to tell the birds how to 
build nests again. And that is why different 
birds build their nests differently. 

Joseph Jacobs. 

THE HOP- ABOUT MAN 1 

Wee-Wun was a little gnome who lived 
in the Bye-bye Meadow, in a fine new house 
which he loved. To live in the Bye-bye 
Meadow was sometimes a dangerous thing, 
for all the big people lived there. Wee-Wun 
might have lived on the other common with 
the other gnomes and fairies if he had liked; 
but he did not. He liked better to be among 
the big people on the Bye-bye Meadow. 
And perhaps if he had not been such a care- 
less fellow he might not have got into so 
much trouble there; but he was as careless 
as he could be. 

One day Wee-Wun was flying across the 

1 From "Little Folks' Magazine," By permission ofCassell &* Co., publishers. 
ID 



146 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

Bye-bye Meadow, with his cap at the back 
of his head, and his pockets full of blue 
blow-away seeds, when he saw lying upon 
the ground two little shoes of blue and silver, 
with upturned toes. 

"Here is a find!" cried he, and he bent 
down over the little shoes with round eyes. 

There they were, and they said nothing 
about how they had come there, but lay 
sadly on their sides, as silent as could be. 

"I shall certainly take them home to my 
fine house, " said Wee-Wun the gnome, "for 
they must be lonely lying here. They shall 
stand upon my mantel shelf, and every 
morning I shall say, 'Good morning, little 
blue shoes/ and every night I shall say, 
'Good night,' and we shall all be as happy 
as can be." 

So he went to put the little shoes into his 
pockets, but he found they were already full 
of blue blow-away seeds. 

Then Wee-Wun took the blue blow-away 
seeds, and cast them over the wall into the 
Stir-about Wife's garden. And he put the 
little shoes into his pocket, and flew away. 

The garden of the Stir-about Wife is full 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 147 

of golden dandelions. That is because the 
Stir-about Wife likes best to brew golden 
spells that will make folk happy, and of 
course dandelions are the flowers you use 
for golden spells. 

But the very next day after Wee-Wun had 
passed, when she came into her garden to 
gather every twentieth dandelion she could 
hardly see a dandelion because of the blow- 
aways that were growing everywhere, and 
casting their fluff into the dandelions* eyes. 

When the Stir-about Wife saw this mournful 
sight she wept, because her beautiful spell, 
which she was about to finish, was quite 
spoiled. And after a little while she went 
into her house and made another spell in- 
stead. 

On the morrow Wee-Wun the gnome came 
flying over the Bye-bye Meadow, just as 
tireless as ever. He stopped for a moment 
by the Stir-about Wife's garden to look at 
the spot where he had found the little blue 
shoes, to see if there were another pair there. 
And after he had seen that no one had dropped 
another pair of little blue shoes, he hung 
over the Stir-about Wife's wall and looked at 



148 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

her garden, and when he saw the blue 
blow-aways he laughed so that he fell upon 
the ground. 

"That is a new kind of dandelion," said he, 
and he picked himself up, laughing still. 
Then he saw that upon the ground where 
he had fallen there lay a large seed that shone 
in the sun. It was as blue as the little blue 
shoes, and Wee-Wun had never seen any 
seed like it before. He took it in his hand, 
and how it twinkled and shone! 

"I shall plant this in my garden," said 
Wee-Wun, "and I shall have a plant which 
will have sunbeams for flowers." 

So he dropped it into his pocket and flew 
away home. That evening he made a little 
hole, and when he had dropped the blue seed 
into it he patted the earth down. 

"Grow quickly, little seed," said he. Then 
he thought of the Stir-about Wife's garden, 
and he began to laugh, and he laughed now 
and again the whole night through. 

But when he awakened in the morning, 
alack! he laughed no more, for his fine home 
was so dark that he could see not a pace in 
front of him. 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 149 

"This is very odd, very odd, indeed !" 
said Wee-Wun the gnome, and he rubbed his 
eyes very hard. But this was no dream, 
and no matter how hard he rubbed, he could 
not rub it away. Then he heard upon the 
floor a clatter and a rustle, and then a stepping 
noise, — one, two; one, two — and that was 
the little blue shoes that were marching 
round and round over the floor very steadily. 

And as they marched they sang this song: 

"Ring-a-ding-dill, ring-a-ding-dill, 
The Hop-about Man comes over the hill. 
Why is he coming, and what will he see? 
Rickety, rackety, — one, two, three." 

And they sang it over and over again. 

"Well, this is a fine time to sing, when it 
is as dark as can be!" cried Wee-Wun. 
But the little shoes took no notice at all. 

So Wee-Wun went outside to his garden, 
and then he saw that the whole world was 
not dark, as he had supposed, but only his 
little home. For in the spot where he had 
sown the blue seed had sprung up a huge 
plant which covered over the window of 
Wee-Wun' s fine house, and reached far 
above its roof. 



150 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

Wee-Wun began to weep, for he did not 
see why this thing had come to him. And 
after he had wept awhile he went close to the 
fearful plant and walked round it, and looked 
up and down. 

And then he said, "Why, it is a blue 
blow-away !" And so it was, but far, far 
larger than any Wee-Wun had ever seen in 
his life before. And it had grown so high 
and as big as that in just one night. 

"What will it be like to-morrow? ,, thought 
Wee-Wun, and he began to weep again. 
But the blue blow-away took no notice of his 
tears, and the little shoes inside the house 
went on singing; so Wee-Wun had to stir 
his wits, and consider what was to be done. 
And when he had considered awhile, he set 
off for the house of the Green Ogre, and he 
was shaking in his shoes. 

The Green Ogre was planting peas, one by 
one. When he saw Wee-Wun come along, 
with tears still on his cheeks and shaking in 
his shoes, he said: 

" My little gnome, you had better keep away, 
lest I plant you in mistake for a pea." 

But Wee-Wun said: 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 151 

"Oh, dear Green Ogre, wouldn't you like 
a nice blue blow-away for your garden? 
I have one which is quite big enough for you; 
it is taller than my little house. You have 
never seen a blow-away so fine." j 

"And are you weeping, my Wee-Wun, 
because you have such a fine blue blow- 
away?" asked the Green Ogre, and he began 
to laugh. 

But Wee-Wun said: 

"I am weeping to see such a fine garden 
as yours without a blue blow-away in it. 
That is a sad sight." 

"There is something in that," said the 
Green Ogre, and he set down his peas, and 
thought. Then he said: "Very well, I will 
come and look at your blue blow-away." 
And he set off at once. 

Now when the Green Ogre saw the blue 
blow-away in Wee-Wun's garden he thought 
it was certainly the best he had ever seen, 
and much too fine for a little gnome like 
Wee-Wun. So he dug it up in a great hurry 
and carried it away. 

"There, that was managed very easily," 
said Wee-Wun the gnome joyously to himself, 



152 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

and he looked at the hole where the blue 
blow-away had been, and laughed. Then 
he went into his fine home, but that was no 
longer empty, for in the seat by the fireside 
sat a little man in a blue smock and feather 
cap. And he looked quite happy and at home. 
And above his head on the mantle shelf 
were the little blue shoes, as quiet as could 
be. 

"This is a nice thing/ ' said Wee-Wun, 
opening his eyes wide. "Who are you that 
you have come into my little house where 
I like to sit all alone ?" 

And the little man replied at once: 

"I am the Hop-about Man, and since you 
have let the Green Ogre carry away the blue 
blow-away in which I lived, I have come to 
live with you." 

"But my fine house is not big enough to 
hold two people," cried Wee-Wun, and he 
was in a way. 

"It is big enough to hold twelve tigers," 
said the Hop-about Man, "so it can easily 
hold two little gnomes. As for me, here I am, 
and here I mean to stay." 

And not another word would he say. 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 153 

At this Wee-Wun was in a terrible way, as 
you may think. But there was the Hop- 
about Man, and he did not seem to care, not 
one bit. 

So Wee-Wun went on his way, and when 
he had made a platter of porridge for his 
breakfast, the Hop-about Man said: 

"Ah, that is my breakfast, I see," and he 
ate it up in a twink. So Wee-Wun had to 
make another platterful, and alack, he was 
careless, and let that porridge burn, and he 
could not eat it, though he tried hard. After- 
wards he went out to fetch wood for his fire, 
and when he had fetched it, he threw it into 
a corner, and he left the door wide open, so 
that a draught fell upon the Hop-about Man. 
But the Hop-about Man said nothing. 

Then Wee-Wun went out to dig in his 
garden, and he dug there the whole day long, 
and when he came in in the evening, there 
was the Hop-about Man sitting in his chair. 
When Wee-Wun looked at his blue smock 
and his feather cap he saw that the Hop-about 
Man looked just like a blue blow-away 
growing in the chair at Wee-Wun's fireside. 
But when Wee-Wun the gnome came in the 



154 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

Hop-about Man flew out of his chair, and he 
flew all around the room, singing this song: 

1 ' Ring-a-ding-dill , ring-a-ding-dill , 
Let all careless things hop about if they will." 

Alack! he had no sooner sung this song 
than the door which Wee-Wun had left 
open jumped off its hinges and ran about the 
floor, and the wood which he had thrown 
into the corner flew out and rushed about too. 
The Hop-about Man's platter, which Wee- 
Wun had forgotten to wash, flew up to the 
ceiling, and the wooden spoon spun round 
like a top on the floor, and all the chairs and 
tables Wee-Wun had left awry began to dance. 

"Certainly my fine house will come down 
about my ears," cried poor Wee-Wun. 

Then he felt a tug at his hair, and that 
was his cap, which he had put on inside out, 
and which was anxious to be off and join in 
the fun. And his spade, which he had left 
lying on the ground outside, came running 
in at the place where the door had been, 
stirring everything as it came. That was 
a muddle, and Wee-Wun began to weep. 

"Oh, dear Hop-about Man," he cried, 
"do tell everything to be quiet again, please, 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 155 

for I can hear the walls of my fine house 
shaking!" 

But the Hop-about Man, who was again 
sitting in his chair, replied: 

"Things will be quiet again when you 
have put all careless things straight." 

So Wee-Wun set to work, and he wept 
ever so fast. You see it is difficult to put 
careless things straight when they are running 
about all the time, and you have to catch 
them first. But at last Wee-Wun set the 
door on its hinges, and put the wood in the 
wood cellar, and washed the Hop-about 
Man's platter and spoon, and set straight 
all the chairs and tables, and put the spade 
in the place where it ought to be, and he was 
so tired then he could hardly move another 
step. But the Hop-about Man did not 
notice him at all, and when Wee-Wun cried 
out to the little blue shoes: 

"See how hard I am working," they were 
quite silent. And you do not know how 
silent blue shoes can be. 

The Hop-about Man was falling asleep 
in his chair when all was finished, and Wee- 
Wun again shed tears. 



156 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

"Oh, Hop-about Man/' he cried, "are you 
never going away?" 

And the Hop-about Man replied: 

"Certainly I am very comfortable here, 
with half of this fine house for my own, and 
I can only walk away if I have a pair of 
little blue shoes to walk in, and I can only 
go when you have set all careless things 
straight." 

Poor Wee-Wun!] He took the little blue 
shoes in a hurry, and his tears were dropping 
all the time. 

"Good-by, little blue shoes," he said, 
but the Hop-about Man did not seem to 
notice. And when Wee-Wun gave them to 
him he put them upon his feet, but he did 
not stir, not an inch. 

Then Wee-Wun sighed a long sigh, and he 
flew over the Bye-bye Meadow till he reached 
the garden of the Stir-about Wife, which is 
bound about by a wall. And there all night 
he weeded, pulling up blue blow-aways by the 
score. But when in the morning he went 
back to his fine house, the Hop-about Man 
was gone. 

Agnes Grazier Herbertson. 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 157 

A GOOD THANKSGIVING 

Said old Gentleman Gay, "On a Thanks- 
giving Day, 
If you want a good time, then give some- 
thing away." 
So he sent a fat turkey to Shoemaker Price, 
And the shoemaker said, "What a big bird! 
how nice! 
And, since a good dinner's before me, I ought 
To give poor Widow Lee the small chicken 
I bought." 

"This fine chicken, oh, see!" said the pleased 
Widow Lee, 
"And the kindness that sent it, how precious 
to me! 
I would like to make some one as happy as I — 
I'll give Washwoman Biddy my big pump- 
kin pie." 

"And oh, sure," Biddy said, "'tis the queen 

of all pies! 
Just to look at its yellow face gladdens my 

eyes! 
Now it's my turn, I think; and a sweet ginger 

cake 



1 58 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

For the motherless Finigan children I'll 
bake." 

"A sweet cake, all our own! Tis too good to 
be true!" 
Said the Finigan children, Rose, Denny, 
and Hugh; 
"It smells sweet of spice, and we'll carry a 
slice 
To poor little Lame Jake — who has nothing 
that's nice." 

"Oh, I thank you, and thank you!" said little 
Lame Jake; 
"Oh, what beautiful, beautiful, beautiful 
cake! 
And oh, such a big slice! I will save all the 
crumbs, 
And will give 'em to each little sparrow 
that comes!" 
And the sparrows they twittered, as if they 
would say, 
Like old Gentleman Gay, "On a Thanks- 
giving Day, 
If you want a good time, then give something 



away!" 



Marian Douglas. 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 159 

PRAISE GOD 

Praise God for wheat, so white and sweet, 

Of which to make our bread ! 
Praise God for yellow corn, with which 

His waiting world is fed! 
Praise God for fish and flesh and fowl 

He gave to men for food! 
Praise God for every creature which 

He made and called it good! 

Praise God for winter's store of ice, 
Praise God for summer's heat! 

Praise God for fruit trees bearing seed, 
"To you it is for meat!" 

Praise God for all the bounty 
By which the world is fed! 

Praise God, ye children all, to whom 
He gives your daily bread! 

ANDERS' NEW CAP 

Once upon a time there was a little boy, 
called Anders, who had a new cap. And a 
prettier cap you never could see, for mother 
herself had knit it; and nobody could make 
anything quite as nice as mother could. It 



i6o THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

was altogether red, except a small part in 
the middle which was green, for the red yarn 
had given out; and the tassel was blue. 

His brothers and sisters walked about 
looking at him, but Anders cared nothing 
about that. He put his hands in his pockets 
and went out for a walk, for he did not 
begrudge anybody's seeing how fine he was. 

The first person he met was a farmhand 
walking beside a load of peat and smacking at 
his horse. He made a bow so deep that his 
back came near to breaking, and Anders 
trotted proudly by. 

At the turn of the road he ran up against 
Lars, the tanner's boy. He was such a big boy 
that he wore high boots and carried a jack- 
knife. He gaped and gazed at the cap, and he 
could not keep from fingering the blue tassel. 

"Let's swap caps," he said, "and I will 
give you my jack-knife to boot." 

Now, this knife was a splendid one, though 
half the blade was gone and the handle was 
a little cracked; and Anders knew that one 
is almost a man as soon as one has a jack- 
knife. But still it did not come up to the 
new cap which mother had made. 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 161 

"Oh, no, I could not do that," he said. 
And then he said good-by to Lars with a 
nod, and went on. 

Soon after this Anders met a very old, 
old woman, who curtsied until her skirts 
looked like a balloon. She said that he was 
so fine that he might go to the king's ball. 

' ' Yes, why not ? ' ' thought Anders. ' ' Seeing 
that I am so fine, I may as well go and visit 
the king." 

And so he did. In the palace yards stood 
two soldiers with shining helmets, and with 
guns over their shoulders; and when Anders 
came both the guns were leveled at him. 

"Where are you going?" asked one of the 
soldiers. 

"I am going to the king's ball," answered 
Anders. 

"No, no," said the other soldier, putting 
his foot forward, "nobody is allowed there 
without a uniform." 

But just at this instant the princess came 

tripping across the yard. She was dressed 

in white silk, with bows of gold ribbon. 

When she saw Anders and the soldiers, she 

walked over to them. 
11 



162 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

"Oh," she said, "he has a very fine cap on 
his head, and that will do as well as a uniform." 

She took Anders' hand and walked with 
him up the broad marble stairs, where soldiers 
were posted at every third step, and through 
magnificent halls where gentlemen and ladies 
in silk and velvet stood bowing wherever he 
went. For, as like as not, they must have 
thought him a prince when they saw his 
fine cap. 

At the farther end of the largest hall a 
table was set with golden cups and golden 
plates in long rows. On huge silver platters 
were pyramids of tarts and cakes. The 
princess sat down under a blue canopy with 
bouquets of roses on it; and she let Anders 
sit in a golden chair by her side. 

"But you must not eat with your cap on 
your head," she said, and was going to take 
it off. 

"Oh, yes, I can eat just as well," said 
Anders, and held on to his cap, for if they 
should take it away from him he did not feel 
sure that he would get it back again. 

"Well, well, give it to me," said the princess, 
"and I will give you a kiss." 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 163 

The princess was certainly beautiful, and 
he would have dearly liked to be kissed by 
her, but the cap which mother had made he 
could not give up on any condition. He 
only shook his head. 

"Well, but now," said the princess; and 
she filled his pockets with cakes, and put her 
own heavy gold chain around his neck, and 
bent down and kissed him. 

But he only moved farther back in his 
chair, and did not take his hands from his 
head. 

Then the doors were thrown open and the 
king entered, with many gentlemen in glit- 
tering uniforms and plumed hats. And the 
king himself wore an ermine -bordered purple 
mantle which trailed behind him, and he had 
a large gold crown on his white hair. 

He smiled when he saw Anders in the gilt 
chair. 

"That is a very fine cap you have," he said. 

"So it is," said Anders, "and it is made of 
mother's best yarn, and she has knit it her- 
self, and every one wants to get it away from 



me." 



"But surely you would like to change caps 



164 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

with me," said the king, and raised his large 
heavy gold crown from his head. 

Anders did not answer. He sat as before, 
and held on to his red cap, which every one 
was so anxious to get. But when the king 
came nearer to him, with his gold crown in 
his hands, then he grew frightened as never 
before, for a king can do as he likes. 

With one jump Anders got out of his chair. 
He darted like an arrow through all the halls, 
down all the stairs, across the yard. He ran 
so fast the princess* necklace fell off his neck 
and all the cakes jumped out of his pockets. 

But he had his cap. He still held on to 
it with both his hands as he ran into his 
mother's cottage. And his mother took him 
up in her lap and he told her all his adventures, 
and how everybody wanted his cap. And 
all his brothers and sisters stood around and 
listened with their mouths open. 

But when his big brother heard that he 
had refused to give his cap for the king's 
golden crown, he said that Anders was stupid. 
Just think what splendid things one might 
get in exchange for the crown; and Anders 
could have had a still finer cap. 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 165 

Anders' face grew red. That he had not 
thought of. He cuddled up to his mother 
and asked: 

"Mother, was I stupid?" 

But his mother hugged him close. 

"No, my little son," she said. "If you 
were dressed in silk and gold from top to 
toe, you could not look any nicer than in 
your little red cap." 

Then Anders felt brave again. He knew 
well enough that mother's cap was the best 
cap in all the world. 

Adapted from "Swedish Fairy Tales. 1 ' 

WHO STOLE THE BIRD'S NEST? 

"To whit! to whit! to whee! 
Will you listen to me? 
Who stole four eggs I laid, 
And the nice nest I made?" 

"Not I," said the cow. "Moo-00! 

Such a thing I'd never do. 

I gave you a wisp of hay, 

But I did n't take your nest away. 

Not I," said the cow. "Moo-00! 

Such a thing I'd never do." 



1 66 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 



1 'To whit! to whit! to whee! 
Will you listen to me? 
Who stole four eggs I laid, 
And the nice nest I made?" 

"Bob-o-link! bob-o-link! 
Now what do you think? 
Who stole a nest away 
From the plum tree to-day?" 

"Not I," said the dog. "Bow-wow! 
I wouldn't be so mean, anyhow! 
I gave the hairs the nest to make, 
But the nest I did not take. 
"Not I," said the dog. "Bow-wow! 
I'm not so mean, anyhow." 

"To whit! to whit! to whee! 
Will you listen to me? 
Who stole four eggs I laid, 
And the nice nest I made?" 



"Bob-o-link! bob-o-link! 
Now what do you think? 
Who stole a nest away, 
From the plum tree to-day?" 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 167 

1 ' Coo-coo ! coo-coo ! coo -coo ! 
Let me speak a word or two ! 
Who stole that pretty nest 
From little Yellowbreast?" 

"Not I," said the sheep, "Oh, no! 

I wouldn't treat a little bird so. 

I gave the wool the nest to line, 

But the nest was none of mine. 

"Baa! baa !" said the sheep. "Oh, no! 

I wouldn't treat a little bird so!" 

"To whit! to whit! to whee! 
Will you listen to me? 
Who stole four eggs I laid, 
And the nice nest I made?" 

' ' Bob-o-link ! bob-o-link ! 
Now what do you think? 
Who stole a nest away 
From the plum tree to-day?" 

' ' Coo-coo ! coo-coo ! coo-coo ! 
Let me speak a word or two! 
Who stole the pretty nest 
From little Yellowbreast?" 



168 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

"Caw! caw!" cried the crow, 
"I should like to know 
What thief took away 
A bird's nest to-day?" 

" Cluck! cluck!" said the hen, 
"Don't ask me again! 
Why I haven't a chick 
Would do such a trick. 

"We all gave a feather, 
And she wove them together. 

I 'd scorn to intrude 
On her and her brood. 
Cluck! cluck!" said the hen, 
"Don't ask me again!" 

I I Chirr-a-whirr ! Chirr-a-whirr ! 
All the birds make a stir! 
Let us find out his name, 
And all cry 'For shame!'" 

"I would not rob a bird," 
Said little Mary Green. 
"I think I never heard 
Of anything so mean." 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 169 

"It is very cruel, too," 
Said little Alice Neal, 
"I wonder if he knew 
How sad the bird would feel." 

A little boy hung down his head, 
And went and hid behind the bed, 
For he stole that pretty nest 
From poor little Yellowbreast. 
And he felt so full of shame, 
He didn't like to tell his name. 

Lydia Maria Child. 

THE STRAW OX 1 

There was once upon a time an old man and 
an old woman. The old man worked in the 
fields as a pitch-burner, while the old woman 
sat at home and spun flax. They were so 
poor that they could save nothing at all; all 
their earnings went in bare food, and when 
that was gone there was nothing left. At 
last the old woman had a good idea : 

" Look now, husband," cried she, "make me 
a straw ox, and smear it all over with tar." 

"Why, you foolish woman!" said he, 

1 From "Cossack Fairy Tales." By permission of the publishers, A. L. Burt 
Company, New York. 



170 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

"what's the good of an ox of that sort?" 

"Never mind," said she, "you just make 
it. I know what I am about." 

What was the poor man to do? He set to 
work and made the ox of straw, and smeared 
it all over with tar. 

The night passed away, and at early dawn 
the old woman took her distaff, and drove the 
straw ox out into the steppe to graze, and she 
herself sat down behind a hillock, and began 
spinning her flax, and cried: 

"Graze away, little ox, while I spin my 
flax. Graze away, little ox, while I spin my 
flax ! " And while she spun, her head drooped 
down and she began to doze, and while she was 
dozing, from behind the dark wood and from 
the back of the huge pines a bear came rush- 
ing out upon the ox and said : 

"Who are you? Speak, and tell me!" 

And the ox said: 

"A three-year-old heifer am I, made of 
straw and smeared with tar." 

"Oh!" said the bear, "stuffed with straw 
and trimmed with tar, are you? Then give 
me of your straw and tar, that I may patch 
up my ragged fur again!" 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 171 

"Take some," said the ox, and the bear 
fell upon him and began to tear away at 
the tar. 

He tore and tore, and buried his teeth in 
it till he found he couldn't let go again. He 
tugged and he tugged, but it was no good, 
and the ox dragged him gradually off, good- 
ness knows where. 

Then the old woman awoke, and there 
was no ox to be seen. "Alas! old fool that 
I am!" cried she, "perchance it has gone 
home." Then she quickly caught up her 
distaff and spinning board, threw them over 
her shoulders, and hastened off home, and she 
saw that the ox had Idragged the bear up to 
the fence, and in she went to her old man. 

"Dad, dad," she cried, "look, look! The 
ox has brought us a bear. Come out and 
kill it!" Then the old man jumped up, tore 
off the bear, tied him up, and threw him in 
the cellar. 

Next morning, between dark and dawn, 
the old woman took her distaff and drove the 
ox into the steppe to graze. She herself sat 
down by a mound, began spinning, and said: 

"Graze, graze away, little ox, while I spin 



172 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

my flax! Graze, graze away, little ox, while 
I spin my flax!" And while she spun, her 
head drooped down and she dozed. And, 
lo! from behind the dark wood, from the 
back of the huge pines, a gray wolf came 
rushing out upon the ox and said: 

"Who are you? Come, tell me!" 

"I am a three-year-old heifer, stuffed with 
straw and trimmed with tar," said the ox. 

"Oh! trimmed with tar, are you? Then 
give me of your tar to tar my sides, that the 
dogs and the sons of dogs tear me not!" 

"Take some," said the ox. And with that 
the wolf fell upon him and tried to tear 
the tar off. He tugged and tugged, and tore 
with his teeth, but could get none off. Then 
he tried to let go, and couldn't; tug and 
worry as he might, it was no good. When 
the old woman woke, there was no heifer 
in sight. ' ' Maybe my heifer has gone home ! ' ' 
she cried. "I'll go home and see." When 
she got there she was astonished, for by the 
paling stood the ox with the wolf still tugging 
at it. She ran and told her old man, and her 
old man came and threw the wolf into the 
cellar also. 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 173 

On the third day the old woman again 
drove her ox into the pastures to graze, and 
sat down by a mound and dozed off. Then 
a fox came running up. "Who are you?" 
it asked the ox. 

"I'm a three-year-old heifer, stuffed with 
straw and daubed with tar." 

"Then give me some of your tar to smear 
my sides with, when those dogs and sons of 
dogs tear my hide!" 

"Take some," said the ox. Then the fox 
fastened her teeth in him and couldn't draw 
them out again. The old woman told her 
old man, and he took and cast the fox into 
the cellar in the same way. And after that 
they caught Pussy Swiftfoot 1 likewise. 

So when he had got them all safely the old 
man sat down on a bench before the cellar 
and began sharpening a knife. And the 
bear said to him: 

"Tell me, daddy, what are you sharpening 
your knife for?" 

"To flay your skin off, that I may make a 
leather jacket for myself and a pelisse for 
my old woman." 

1 The hare. 



174 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

"Oh! don't flay me, daddy dear! Rather 
let me go, and 111 bring you a lot of honey.' ' 

"Very well, see you do it," and he unbound 
and let the bear go. Then he sat down on 
the bench and again began sharpening his 
knife. And the wolf asked him: 

"Daddy, what are you sharpening your 
knife for?" 

" To flay off your skin, that I may make me 
a warm cap against the winter/' 

"Oh! Don't flay me, daddy dear, and I'll 
bring you a whole herd of little sheep." 

"Well, see that you do it," and he let the 
wolf go. 

Then he sat down, and began sharpening 
his knife again. The fox put out her little 
snout, and asked him: 

"Be so kind, dear daddy, and tell me why 
you are sharpening your knife!" 

"Little foxes," said the old man, "have 
nice skins that do capitally for collars and 
trimmings, and I want to skin you!" 

"Oh! Don't take my skin away, daddy 
dear, and I will bring you hens and geese." 

"Very well, see that you do it!" and he let 
the fox go. 



.THE STORY "TELLER'S BOOK 175 

The hare now alone remained, and the old 
man began sharpening his knife on the hare's 
account. 

"Why do you do that?" asked Puss, and 
he replied: 

"Little hares have nice little, soft, warm 
skins, which will make me nice gloves and 
mittens against the winter!" 

"Oh! daddy dear! Don't flay me, and I'll 
bring you kale and good cauliflower, if only 
you let me go!" 

Then he let the hare go also. 

Then they went to bed: but very early 
in the morning, when it was neither dusk 
nor dawn, there was a noise in the doorway 
like "Durrrrrr!" 

"Daddy!" cried the old woman, "there's 
some one scratching at the door: go and see 
who it is!" 

The old man went out, and there was the 
bear carrying a whole hive full of honey. 
The old man took the honey from the bear; 
but no sooner did he lie down again than 
there was another "Durrrrr!" at the door. 
The old man looked out and saw the 
wolf driving a whole flock of sheep into the 



176 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

courtyard. Close on his heels came the fox, 
driving before him the geese and hens, and 
all manner of fowls; and last of all came 
the hare, bringing cabbage and kale, and all 
manner of good food. 

And the old man was glad, and the old 
woman was glad. And the old man sold 
the sheep and oxen, and got so rich that 
he needed nothing more. 

As for the straw-stuffed ox, it stood in the 
sun till it fell to pieces. 

R. Nesbit Bain. 

NURSERY SONG 

As I walked over the hill one day, 

I listened, and heard a mother sheep say, 

"In all the green world there is nothing so 

sweet 
As my little lamb, with his nimble feet; 

With his eye so bright, 

And his wool so white, 
Oh, he is my darling, my heart's delight!" 
And the mother sheep and her little one 
Side by side lay down in the sun; 
And they went to sleep on the hillside warm, 
While my little lambie lies here on my arm. 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 177 

I went to the kitchen, and what did I see 
But the old gray cat with her kittens three! 
I heard her whispering soft; said she, 
"My kittens, with tails so cunningly curled, 
Are the prettiest things that can be in the 
world. 

The bird on the tree, 

And the old ewe, she, 
May love their babies exceedingly; 

But I love my kittens there, 

Under the rocking chair. 
I love my kittens with all my might, 
I love them at morning, noon, and night. 
Now 1 11 take up my kitties, the kitties I love, 
And we '11 lie down together beneath the warm 

stove." 
Let the kittens sleep under the stove so warm, 
While my little darling lies here on my arm. 

I went to the yard, and I saw the old hen 
Go clucking about with her chickens ten; 
She clucked and she scratched and she bustled 

away, 
And what do you think I heard the hen say? 
I heard her say, " The sun never did shine 
On anything like to these chickens of mine. 

12 



178 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

You may hunt" the full moon and the stars, 

if you please, 
But you will not find ten such chickens as 

these. 
My dear, downy darlings, my sweet little 

things, 
Come, nestle now cozily under my wings." 
So the hen said, 
And the chickens all sped 
As fast as they could to their nice feather bed. 
And there let them sleep, in their feathers so 

warm, 
While my little chick lies here on my arm. 

Mrs. Carter. 

t THE STARS IN THE SKY 1 

Once on a time and twice on a time, and 
all times together as ever I heard tell of, 
there was a tiny lassie who would weep all 
day to have the stars in the sky to play with; 
she wouldn't have this, and she wouldn't 
have that, but it was always the stars she 
would have. So one fine day off she walked, 
till by and by she came to a mill dam. 

" Good e'en to ye," says she; "I'm seeking 

1 From " Magic Casements" By permission of the Publishers, Doubleday 
Page 6* Company, New York. 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 179 

the stars in the sky to play with. Have you 
seen any?" 

"Oh, yes, my bonny lassie," said the mill 
dam. "They shine in my own face o' nights 
till I can't sleep for them. Jump in, and 
perhaps you '11 find one." 

So she jumped in, and swam about and 
swam about, but ne'er a one could she see. 
So she went on till she came to a brooklet. 

"Good e'en to ye, Brooklet, Brooklet," 
says she; "I'm seeking the stars in the sky 
to play with. Have you seen any? " 

"Yes, indeed, my bonny lassie," said the 
brooklet. "They glint on my banks at night. 
Paddle about, and maybe you'll find one." 

So she paddled and she paddled and she 
paddled, but ne'er a one did she find. So on 
she went till she came to the Good Folk. 

"Good e'en to ye, Good Folk," says she; 
"I'm looking for the stars in the sky to play 
with. Have ye seen e'er a one?" 

"Why, yes, my bonny lassie," said the 
Good Folk. "They shine on the grass here 
o' nights. Dance with us, and maybe you'll 
find one." 

And she danced and she danced and she 



180 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK' 

danced, but ne'er a one did she see. So 
down she sat; I suppose she wept. 

"Oh, dearie me, oh, dearie me. I've swam 
and IVe paddled and IVe danced, and if 
you'll not help me I shall never find the stars 
in the sky to play with. " 

But the Good Folk whispered together, 
and one of them came up to her and took her 
by the hand and said: "If you won't go 
home to your mother, go forward, go forward ; 
mind you take the right road. Ask Four 
Feet to carry you to No Feet at All, and tell 
No Feet at All to carry you to the stairs 
without steps, and if you can climb that — " 

"Oh, shall I be among the stars in the sky 
then?" cried the lassie. 

"If you'll not be, then you'll be elsewhere, " 
said the Good Folk, and set to dancing again. 

So on she went again with a light heart, and 
by and by she came to a saddled horse, tied 
to a tree. 

"Goode'en to ye, Beast," said she; "I'm 
seeking the stars in the sky to play with. 
Will you give me a lift, for all my bones are 
an-aching. " 

"Nay," said the horse, "I know naught of 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 181 

the stars in the sky, and I 'm here to do the bid- 
ding of the Good Folk, and not my own will. " 

"Well," said she, "it's from the Good Folk 
I come, and they bade me tell Four Feet to 
carry me to No Feet at All." 

"That's another story," said he; "jump 
up and ride with me." 

So they rode and they rode and they rode, 
till they got out of the forest and found them- 
selves at the edge of the sea. And on the 
water in front of them was a wide, glistening 
path running straight out toward a beautiful 
thing that rose out of the water and went up 
into the sky, and was all the colors in the 
world, blue and red and green, and wonderful 
to look at. 

"Now get you down," said the horse; 
"I've brought ye to the end of the land, and 
that 's as much as Four Feet can do. I must 
away home to my own folk." 

"But," said the lassie, "where's No Feet 
at All, and where 's the stair without steps?" 

"I know not," said the horse, "it's none 
of my business, neither. So good e 'en to ye, 
my bonny lassie"; and of! he went. 

So the lassie stood still and looked at the 



1 82 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

water, till a strange kind of fish came swim- 
ming up to her feet. 

Good e'en to ye, big Fish," says she; 
" I'm looking for the stars in the sky, and for 
the stairs that climb up to them. Will ye 
show me the way?" 

"Nay," said the fish; "I can't unless you 
bring me word from the Good Folk." 

"Yes, indeed, " said she. "They said Four 
Feet would bring me to No Feet at All, and 
No Feet at All would carry me to the stairs 
without steps." 

"Ah, well," said the fish; "that's all 
right then. Get on my back and hold fast. " 

And off he went, kerplash! into the water, 
along the silver path toward the bright arch. 
And the nearer they came the brighter the 
sheen of it, till she had to shade her eyes from 
the light of it. 

And as they came to the foot of it she saw 
it was a broad, bright road, sloping up and 
away into the sky, and at the far, far end of 
it she could see wee shining things dancing 
about. 

"Now," said the fish, "here you are, and 
yon's the stair; climb up, if you can, but hold 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 183 

on fast. I'll warrant you find the stair 
easier at home than by such a way; 'twas 
ne'er meant for lassies' feet to travel"; and 
off he splashed through the water. 

So she clomb and she clomb and she clomb, 
but ne'er a step higher did she get; the light 
was before her and around her, and the water 
behind her, and the more she struggled the 
more she was forced down into the dark and 
the cold, and the more she clomb the deeper 
she fell. 

But she clomb and she clomb, till she got 
dizzy in the light and shivered with the cold, 
and dazed with the fear; but still she clomb, 
till at last, quite dazed and silly-like, she let 
clean go, and sank down — down — down. 

And bang she came on to the hard boards, 
and found herself sitting, weeping and wail- 
ing, by the bedside at home all alone. 

Kate Douglas Wiggin and Nora Smith. 

THE FAIRIES OF THE CALDON LOW 

"And where have you been, my Mary, 
And where have you been from me?" 

"I've been to the top of the Caldon Low, 
The midsummer-night to see!" 



1 84 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

"And what did you see, my Mary, 
All up on the Caldon Low?" 

"I saw the glad sunshine come down, 
And I saw the merry winds blow." 

"And what did you hear, my Mary, 
All up on the Caldon Low?" 

"I heard the drops of the waters made, 
And the ears of the green corn fill." 

"Oh! tell me all, my Mary, 
All, all that ever you know; 

For you must have seen the fairies 
Last night on the Caldon Low." 

"Then take me on your knee, mother; 

And listen, mother of mine. 
A hundred fairies danced last night, 

And the harpers they were nine. 

"And their harp-strings rung so merrily 
To their dancing feet so small; 

But oh! the words of their talking 
Were merrier far than all." 

"And what were the words, my Mary, 
That then you heard them say?" 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 185 

'Til tell you all, my mother; 
But let me have my way. 

"Some of them played with the water, 

And rolled it down the hill; 
'And this/ they said, 'shall speedily turn 

The poor old miller's mill: 

11 'For there has been no water 

Ever since the first of May; 
And a busy man will the miller be 

At dawning of the day. 

" 'Oh! the miller, how he will laugh 
When he sees the mill dam rise! 

The jolly old miller, how he will laugh, 
Till the tears fill both his eyes!' 

"And some they seized the little winds 

That sounded over the hill; 
And each put a horn into his mouth, 

And blew both loud and shrill: 

' ' ' And there, ' they said, ' the merry winds go, 

Away from every horn; 
And they shall clear the mildew dank 

From the blind old widow's corn. 



1 86 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

" 'Oh! the poor blind widow, 
Though she has been blind so long, 

Shell be blithe enough when the mildew's 
gone, 
And the corn stands tall and strong.' 

" And some they brought the brown lintseed 
And flung it down from the Low; 

'And this,' they said, 'by the sunrise, 
In the weaver's croft shall grow. 

" 'Oh! the poor lame weaver, 

How he will laugh outright, 
When he sees his dwindling flax field 

All full of flowers by night!' 

"And then out spoke a brownie, 
With a long beard on his chin; 

'I have spun up all the tow,' said he, 
'And I want some more to spin. 

" 'I've spun a piece of hempen cloth, 

And I want to spin another; 
A little sheet for Mary's bed, 

And an apron for her mother.' 

"With that I could not help but laugh, 
And I laughed out loud and free; 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 187 

And then on top of the Caldon Low 
There was no one left but me. 

"And all on the top of the Caldon Low 
The mists were cold and gray, 

And nothing I saw but the mossy stones 
That round about me lay. 

"But coming down from the hilltop, 

I heard afar below 
How busy the jolly miller was 

And how the wheel did go. 

"And I peeped into the widow's field, 

And sure enough, were seen 
The yellow ears of the mildewed corn, 

All standing stout and green. 

"And down to the weaver's croft I stole, 
To see if the flax were sprung; 

But I met the weaver at his gate, 
With the good news on his tongue. 

"Now this is all I heard, mother, 

And all that I did see; 
So, pr'ythee, make my bed, mother, 

For I'm tired as I can be." 

Mary Howitt. 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 



MABEL ON MIDSUMMER DAY 

PART I 

" Arise, my maiden, Mabel," 

The mother said, " arise, 
For the golden sun of Midsummer 

Is shining in the skies. 

" Arise, my little maiden, 

For thou must speed away 

To wait upon thy grandmother, 
This livelong summer day. 

"And thou must carry with thee 
This wheaten cake so fine, 

This new-made pat of butter, 
This little flask of wine. 

"And tell the dear old body 

This day I cannot come, 
For the goodman went out yestermorn, 

And he is not come home. 

"And more than this, poor Amy 

Upon my knee doth lie; 
I fear me with this fever pain 

The little child will die! 






THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 189 

"And thou canst help thy grandmother; 

The table thou canst spread, 
Canst feed the little dog and bird, 

And thou canst make her bed. 

"And thou canst fetch the water 
From the lady-well hard by; 

And thou canst gather from the wood 
The fagots brown and dry. 

"Canst go down to the lonesome glen, 

To milk the mother ewe; 
This is the work, my Mabel, 

That thou wilt have to do. 

"But listen now, my Mabel; 

This is Midsummer Day, 
When all the fairy people 

From elf -land come away. 

"And when thou art in lonesome glen, 

Keep by the running burn, 
And do not pluck the strawberry flower, 

Nor break the lady fern. 

"But think not of the fairy folk 
Lest mischief should befall; 



190 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

Think only of poor Amy, 

And how thou lov'st us all. 

"Yet keep good heart, my Mabel, 

If thou the fairies see, 
And give them kindly answer 

If they should speak to thee. 

"And when into the fir wood 
Thou go'st for fagots brown, 

Do not, like idle children, 

Go wandering up and down. 

"But fill thy little apron, 

My child, with earnest speed; 

And that thou break no living bough 
Within the wood, take heed. 

"For they are spiteful brownies 

Who in the wood abide, 
So be thou careful of this thing, 

Lest evil should betide. 

"But think not, little Mabel, 
Whil'st thou art in the wood, 

Of dwarfish, wilful brownies, 
But of the Father good, 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 191 

"And when thou goest to the spring 

To fetch the water thence, 
Do not disturb the little stream, 

Lest this should give offense. 

"For the queen of all the fairies, 

She loves that water bright; 
I've seen her drinking there myself 

On many a summer night. 

"But she's a gracious lady, 

And her thou need'st not fear; 

Only disturb thou not the stream, 
Nor spill the water clear." 

"Now all this will I heed, mother; 

Will no word disobey, 
And wait upon the grandmother 

This livelong summer day." 

PART II 

Away tripped little Mabel, 

With the wheaten cake so fine, 

With the new-made pat of butter, 
And the little flask of wine. 

And long before the sun was hot 
And morning mists had cleared, 



192 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

Beside the good old grandmother 
The willing child appeared. 

And all her mothers message 
She told with right good will, 

How that the father was away 
And the little child was ill. 

And then she swept the hearth up clean, 
And then the table spread, 

And next she fed the dog and bird, 
And then she made the bed. 

u And go now," said the grandmother, 

"Ten paces down the dell, 
And bring in water for the day, — 
Thou know'st the lady-well." 

The first time that good Mabel went, 

Nothing at all saw she 
Except a bird, a sky-blue bird, 

That sat upon a tree. 

The ?iext time that, good Mabel went, 

There sat a lady bright 
Beside the well, — a lady small, 

All clothed in green and white. 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 193 

A curtsey low made Mabel, 

And then she stooped to fill 
Her pitcher at the sparkling spring, 

But no drop did she spill. 

"Thou art a handy maiden/ ' 

The fairy lady said; 
"Thou hast not spilled a drop, nor yet 

The fair spring troubled! 

"And for this thing which thou hast done, 

Yet may'st not understand, 
I give to thee a better gift 

Than houses or than land. 

"Thou shalt do well whate'er thou dost, 

As thou hast done this day; 
Shalt have the will and power to please, 

And shalt be loved alway." 

Thus having said she passed from sight; 

And naught could Mabersee 
But the little bird, the sky-blue bird, 

Upon the leafy tree. 

"And now, go," said the grandmother, 
"And fetch in fagots dry; 



13 



194 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

All in the neighboring fir wood 
Beneath the trees they lie." 

Away went kind, good Mabel, 

Into the fir wood near, 
Where all the ground was dry and brown 

And the grass grew thin and sere. 

She did not wander up and down, 

Nor yet a live branch pull, 
But steadily of the fallen boughs 

She picked her apron full. 

And when the wild-wood brownies 

Came sliding to her mind, 
She drove them thence, as she was told, 

With home thoughts sweet and kind. 

But all that while, the brownies 

Within the fir wood still, 
They watched her how she picked the wood 

And strove to do no ill. 

"And oh! but she is small and neat," 
Said one; " 'twere shame to spite 

A creature so demure and meek, 
A creature harmless quite!" 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 195 

"Look only," said another, 

"At her little-go wn of blue; 
At her kerchief pinned about her head, 

And at her little shoe!" 

"Oh! but she is a comely child," 
Said a third; "and we will lay 

A good-luck penny in her path, 
A boon for her this day — 

Seeing she broke no living wood, 
No live thing did affray! " 

With that the smallest penny 

Of the finest silver ore, 
Upon the dry and slippery path, 

Lay Mabel's feet before. 

With joy she picked the penny up, 

The fairy penny good; 
And with her fagots dry and brown 

Went wondering from the wood. 

"Now she has that," the brownies said, 

"Let flax be ever so dear, 
'Twill buy her clothes of the very best, 

For many and many a year! " 



i 9 6 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

"And go now," said the grandmother, 

"Since falling is the dew, 
Go down into the lonesome glen, 

And milk the mother ewe." 

All down into the lonesome glen, 
Through copses thick and wild, 

Through moist, rank grass, by trickling 
stream, 
Went on the willing child. 

And when she came to lonesome glen, 

She kept beside the burn, 
And neither plucked the strawberry flower 

Nor broke the lady fern. 

And while she milked the mother ewe 

Within the lonesome glen, 
She wished that little Amy 

Were strong and well again. 

And soon as she had thought this thought, 

She heard a coming sound 
As if a thousand fairy folk 

Were gathering all around. 

And then she heard a little voice, 
Shrill as the midge's wing, 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 197 

That spake aloud, "A human child 
Is here — yet mark this thing, i 

"The lady fern is all unbroke, 
The strawberry flower unta'en! 

What shall be done for her who still 
From mischief can refrain?" 

"Give her a fairy cake! " said one; 

"Grant her a wish!" said three; 
"The latest wish that she hath wished," 

Said all, "whate'er it be! " 

Kind Mabel heard the words they spake, 

And from the lonesome glen 
Unto the good old grandmother 

Went gladly back again. 

Thus happened it to Mabel 

On that Midsummer Day; 
And these three fairy blessings 

She took with her away. 

' Tis good to make all duty sweet, 

To be alert and kind; 
1 Tis good, like little Mabel, 

To have a willing mind. 

Mary Howitt. 



198 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

OEYVIND AND MARIT 1 
I 

Oeyvind was his name. A low, barren 
cliff overhung the house in which he was born ; 
fir and birch looked down on the roof, and 
wild cherry strewed flowers over it. Upon 
this roof there walked about a little goat, 
which belonged to Oeyvind. He was kept 
there that he might not go astray; and 
Oeyvind carried leaves and grass up to him. 
One fine day the goat leaped down, and away 
to the cliff; he went straight up, and came 
where he never had been before. 

Oeyvind did not see him when he came out 
after dinner, and thought immediately of the 
fox. He grew hot all over, looked around 
about, and called, "Kmy-killy-killy-goat!" 

"Bay-ay-ay," said the goat, from the brow 
of the hill, as he cocked his head on one side 
and looked down. 

But beside the goat there kneeled a little 
girl. " Is it yours — this goat? " she asked. 

Oeyvind stood with eyes and mouth wide 
open, thrust both hands into the breeches he 
had on, and asked, "Who are you?" 

1 From J. G. Whiltier's "Child Life in Prose." By permission of the pub- 
lishers, Houghton Mifflin Company. 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 199 

"I am Marit, mother's little one, father's 
fiddle, the elf in the house, granddaughter of 
Ole Nordistuen of the Heide farms, four years 
old in the autumn, two days after the frost 
nights, I!" 

"Are you really?" he said, and drew a long 
breath, which he had not dared to do so long 
as she was speaking. 

"Is it yours, this goat?" asked the girl 
again. 

"Ye-es," he said, and looked up. 

"I have taken such a fancy to the goat. 
You will not give it to me?" 

"No, that I won't." 

She lay kicking her legs, and looking down 
at him, and then she said, "But if I give you 
a butter-cake for the goat, can I have him 
then?" 

Oeyvind came of poor people, and had eaten 
butter-cake only once in his life; that was 
when grandpa came there, and anything 
like it he had never eaten before or since. 
He looked up at the girl. "Let me see the 
butter-cake first," said he. 

She was not long about it, and took out a 
large cake, which she held in her hand. 



200 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

"Here it is," she said, and threw it down. 

"Ow, it went to pieces," said the boy. He 
gathered up every bit with the utmost care; 
he could not help tasting the very smallest, 
and that was so good he had to taste another, 
and, before he knew it himself, he had eaten 
up the whole cake. 

"Now the goat is mine," said the girl. 

The boy stopped with the last bit in his 
mouth, the girl lay and laughed, and the goat 
stood by her side, with white breast and dark 
brown hair, looking sideways down. 

11 Could you not wait a little while? " begged 
the boy; his heart began to beat. Then the 
girl laughed still more, and got up quickly on 
her knees. 

" No, the goat is mine, " she said, and threw 
her arms round its neck, loosened one of her 
garters, and fastened it round. Oeyvind 
looked up. She got up, and began pulling 
at the goat. It would not follow, but twisted 
its neck downwards to where Oeyvind stood. 

"Bay-ay-ay," it said. 

But she took hold of its hair with one hand, 
pulled the string with the other, and said 
gently, "Come, goat, and you shall go into 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 201 

the room and eat out of mother's dish and 
my apron.' ' And then she sang: 

"Come, boy's goat, 
Come, mother's calf, 
Come, mewing cat 
In snow-white shoes. 
Come, yellow ducks, 
Come out of your hiding place; 
Come, little chickens, 
Who can hardly go; 
Come, my doves 
With soft feathers; 
See, the grass is wet, 
But the sun does you good; 
And early, early is it in summer, 
But call for the autumn, and it will come." 

There stood the boy. 

He had taken care of the goat since the 
winter before, when it was born, and he had 
never imagined he could lose it; but now it 
was done in a moment, and he would never 
see it again. 

His mother came up humming from the 
beach, with wooden pans which she had 
scoured; she saw the boy sitting with his legs 
crossed under him on the grass, crying, and 
she went up to him. 



202 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

"What are you crying about ?" 

"Oh, the goat, the goat!" 

"Yes; where is the goat?" asked his 
mother, looking up at the roof. 

"It will never come back again/' said the 
boy. 

"Dear me! How could that happen?" 

He would not confess immediately. 

"Has the fox taken it?" 

"Ah, if it only were the fox!" 

' ' Are you crazy? ' ' said his mother. ' ' What 
has become of the goat?" 

"Oh-h-h, I happened to — to — to sell it 
for a cake!" 

As soon as he had uttered the word, he 
understood what it was to sell the goat for 
a cake; he had not thought of it before. 
His mother said: 

"What do you suppose the little goat 
thinks of you, when you could sell him for 
a cake?" 

And the boy thought about it, and felt 
sure that he could never again be happy in 
this world, and not even in heaven, he thought, 
afterwards. He felt so sorry that he promised 
himself never again to do anything wrong, 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 203 

never to cut the thread on the spinning 
wheel, nor let the goats out, nor go down to 
the sea alone. He fell asleep where he lay, 
and dreamed about the goat, that he had gone 
to heaven; our Lord sat there with a great 
beard, as in the catechism, and the goat stood 
eating the leaves off a shining tree; but 
Oeyvind sat alone on the roof, and could 
not come up. 

Suddenly there came something wet close 
up to his ear, and he started up. " Bay-ay- 
ay !" it said; and it was the goat, who had 
come back again. 

''What! have you got back?" 

He jumped up, took it by the two forelegs, 
and danced with it as if it were a brother; he 
pulled its beard, and he was just going in to 
his mother with it, when he heard some one 
behind him, and, looking, saw the girl sitting 
on the greensward by his side. Now he 
understood it all, and let go the goat. 

"Is it you who have come with it?" 

She sat tearing the grass up with her hands, 
and said: 

"They would not let me keep it; grand- 
father is sitting up there, waiting." 



204 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

While the boy stood looking at her, he 
heard a sharp voice from the road above call 
out, "Now!" 

Then she remembered what she was to do; 
she rose, went over to Oeyvind, put one of 
her muddy hands into his, and, turning her 
face away, said: 

"I beg your pardon !" 

But then her courage was all gone; she 
threw herself over the goat, and wept. 

"I think you had better keep the goat," 
said Oeyvind, looking the other way. 

"Come, make haste!" said grandpapa, up 
on the hill; and Marit rose, and walked with 
reluctant feet upwards. 

"You are not forgetting your garter?" 
Oeyvind called after her. She turned around, 
and looked first at the garter and then at 
him. At last she came to a great resolution, 
and said, in a choked voice: 

"You may keep that. " 

He went over to her, and, taking her hand, 
said: 

"Thank you!" 

"Oh, nothing to thank for!" sheanswered, 
but drew a long sigh, and walked on. 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 205 

He sat down on the grass again. The 
goat walked about near him, but he was no 
longer so pleased with it as before. 

II 

The goat was fastened to the wall; but 
Oeyvind walked about, looking up at the 
cliff. His mother came out and sat down 
by his side; he wanted to hear stories about 
what was far away, for now the goat no 
longer satisfied him. So she told him how 
once everything could talk: the mountain 
talked to the stream, and the stream to the 
river, the river to the sea, and the sea to the 
sky; but then he asked if the sky did not 
talk to any one; and the sky talked to the 
clouds, the clouds to the trees, the trees to 
the grass, the grass to the flies, the flies to 
the animals, the animals to the children, the 
children to the grown-up people; and so 
it went on, until it had gone round, and no 
one could tell where it had begun. Oeyvind 
looked at the mountain, the trees, the sky, 
and had never really seen them before. The 
cat came out at that moment, and lay down 
on the stone before the door in the sunshine. 



206 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

"What does the cat say?" asked Oeyvind, 
pointing. His mother sang: 

"At evening softly shines the sun, 
The cat lies lazy on the stone. 
Two small mice, 
Cream, thick and nice, 
Four bits of fish, 
I stole behind a dish, 
And am so lazy and tired, 
Because so well I have fared, 

says the cat." 

But then came the cock, with all the hens. 
"What does the cock say?" asked Oeyvind, 
clapping his hands together. His mother 
sang: 

"The mother hen her wings doth sink, 
The cock stands on one leg to think: 
That gray goose 
Steers high her course; 
But sure am I that never she 
As clever as a cock can be. 
Run in, you hens, keep under the roof to-day, 
For the sun has got leave to stay away, 

says the cock." 

But the little birds were sitting on the 
ridgepole, singing. "What do the birds 
say?" asked Oeyvind, laughing. 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 207 

''Dear Lord, how pleasant is life, 
For those who have neither toil nor strife, 

say the birds." 

And she told him what they all said, down 
to the ant who crawled in the moss, and the 
worm who worked in the bark. 

That same summer, one day, his mother 
came in and said to him, "To-morrow school 
begins and then you are going there with 
me. 

Oeyvind had heard that school was a place 
where many children played together, and 
he had no objection. Indeed, he was much 
pleased, and he was so anxious to get there, 
he walked faster than his mother up over 
the hills. 

When he came in there sat as many chil- 
dren around a table as he had ever seen at 
church. Others were sitting around the walls. 
They all looked up as Oeyvind and his mother 
entered, and as he was going to find a seat 
they all wanted to make room for him. He 
looked around a long time with his cap 
in his hand, and just as he was going to 
sit down he saw close beside him, sitting 
by the hearthstone, Marit of the many 



208 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

names. She had covered her face with both 
hands, and sat peeping at him through her 
fingers. 

"I shall sit here," said Oeyvind quickly, 
seating himself at her side, and then she 
laughed and he laughed too. 

"Is it always like this here?" he whispered 
to Marit. 

"Yes, just like this; I have a goat now," she 
said. 

"Have you?" 

"Yes; but it is not so pretty as yours." 

"Why don't you come oftener up on the 
cliff?" said he. 

"Grandpapa is afraid I shall fall over." 

"But it is not so very high." 

"Grandpapa won't let me, for all that." 

"Mother knows so many songs," said he. 

"Grandpapa does too, you can believe." 

"Yes, but he does not know what mother 
does." 

"Grandpapa knows one about a dance. 
Would you like to hear it ? " 

"Yes, very much." 

"Well, then you must come farther over 
here, and I will tell it to you." 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 209 

He changed his place, and then she recited 
a little piece of a song three or four times over 
so that the little boy learned it, and that was 
the first he learned at school. 

Then the children sang, and Oeyvind stood 
with Marit by the door. All the children 
stood with folded hands and sang. Oeyvind 
and Marit also folded their hands, but they 
could not sing. And that was the first day 
at school. 

BjORNE BjORNESON. 

THE FAIRIES 

Up the airy mountain, 

Down the rushy glen, 
We daren't go a-hunting, 

For fear of little men; 
Wee folk, good folk, 

Trooping all together; 
Green jacket, red cap, 

And white owl's feather! 

Down along the rocky shore 

Some make their home — 
They live on crispy pancakes 

Of yellow tide-foam; 

14 



210 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

Some in the reeds 

Of the black mountain lake, 
With frogs for their watchdogs, 

All night awake. 

High on the hilltop 

The old king sits; 
He is now so old and gray, 

He 's nigh lost his wits. 
With a bridge of white mist 

Columbkill he crosses 
On his stately journeys 

From Slieveleague to Rosses; 
Or going up with music 

On cold, starry nights, 
To sup with the Queen 

Of the gay Northern Lights. 

They stole little Bridget 

For seven years long; 
When she came down again 

Her friends were all gone. 
They took her lightly back, 

Between the night and morrow; 
They thought that she was fast asleep, 

But she was dead with sorrow. 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 211 

They have kept her ever since 

Deep within the lake, 
On a bed of flag leaves, 

Watching till she wake. 

By the craggy hillside, 

Through the mosses bare, 
They have planted thorn trees 

For pleasure here and there. 
Is any man so daring 

As dig them up in spite, 
He shall find their sharpest thorns 

In his bed at night. 

Up the airy mountain, 

Down the rushy glen, 
We daren't go a-hunting 

For fear of little men; 
Wee folk, good folk, 

Trooping all together; 
Green jacket, red cap, 

And white owl's feather! 

William Allingham. 



212 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

THE HALF-CHICK 1 

Once upon a time there was a handsome 
black Spanish hen who had a brood of chick- 
ens. They were all fine, plump little birds 
except the youngest, who was quite unlike 
his brothers and sisters. This one'looked just 
as if he had been cut in two. He had only 
one leg, and one wing, and one eye, and half 
a head, and half a beak. His mother shook 
her head sadly as she looked at him and said : 

"My youngest born is only a half -chick. " 
And she called him Medio Pollito, which is 
Spanish for half -chick. 

Now, though Medio Pollito was such an 
odd little fellow, he had a roving spirit in 
spite of his one leg. He was always running 
away, and when his mother called him to 
return to the coop he pretended that he could 
not hear, because he had only one ear. 

When she took the whole family out for 
a walk in the fields, Medio Pollito would hop 
away by himself and hide in the corn. As he 
grew older he grew more self-willed and dis- 
obedient, and was often very rude to his 

From the Andrew Lang "Green Fairy Book" Longmans, Green &• Co.; 
New York. 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 213 

mother and disagreeable to the other chickens. 

One day he had been out far longer than 
usual in the fields. On his return he strutted 
up to his mother with the little hop and kick 
which was his way of walking, and, cocking 
his one eye at her in a very bold way, he said : 

"Mother, I am tired of life in this dull 
farmyard. I'm off to Madrid to see the 
king." 

"To Madrid, Medio Pollito!" exclaimed 
his mother. "Why, you silly chick, you 
would be tired out before you had gone half 
the distance. No, no, stay at home with 
your mother, and some day when you are 
bigger we will go for a little journey together. " 

But Medio Pollito had made up his mind, 
and off he would go. Scarcely waiting to 
say good-by to his family, away he stumped 
down the highroad that led to Madrid. 

"Be sure that you are kind and civil to 
every one you meet," called his mother, 
running after him; but he was in such a 
hurry to be off that he did not wait to answer 
her or even to look back. 

A little later in the day, as he was taking 
a short cut through a field, he passed a stream. 



214 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

Now the stream was all choked up and over- 
grown with weeds and water plants, so that 
its waters could not flow freely. 

"Oh! Medio Pollito," it cried as the 
half -chick hopped along its banks, "do come 
and help me by clearing away these weeds." 

"Help you, indeed !" exclaimed Medio 
Pollito, tossing his head and shaking the few 
feathers in his tail. "Do you think I have 
nothing to do but to waste my time on such 
trifles? Help yourself, and don't trouble 
busy travelers. I am off to Madrid to see 
the king," and hoppity-kick, hoppity-kick, 
away stumped Medio Pollito. 

A little later he came to a fire that had 
been left by some gypsies in a wood. It was 
burning very low and would soon be out. 

"Oh! Medio Pollito," cried the fire in a 
weak, wavering voice as the half-chick ap- 
proached, "in a few minutes I shall go quite 
out unless you put some sticks and dry leaves 
upon me. Do help me, or I shall die!" 

"Help you, indeed!" answered Medio Pol- 
lito. "I have other things to do. Gather 
sticks for yourself and don't trouble me. 
I am off to Madrid to see the king," and 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 215 

hoppity-kick, hoppity-kick, away stumped 
Medio Pollito. 

The next morning, as he was getting near 
Madrid, he passed a large chestnut tree, in 
whose branches the wind was caught and 
entangled. 

"Oh! Medio Pollito," called the wind, 
"do hop up here and help me to get free of 
these branches. I cannot come away, and 
it is so uncomfortable." 

"It is your own fault for going there," 
answered Medio Pollito. "I can't waste all 
my morning stopping here to help you. Just 
shake yourself off, and don't hinder me, for 
I am off to Madrid to see the king," and 
hoppity-kick, hoppity-kick, away stumped 
Medio Pollito in great glee, for the towers 
and roofs of Madrid were now in sight. 

When he entered the town he saw before 
him a great, splendid house, with soldiers 
standing before the gates. This he knew must 
be the king's palace, and he determined to 
hop up to the front gate and wait there until 
the king came out. But as he was hopping 
past one of the back windows the king's cook 
saw him. 



216 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

"Here is the very thing I want," he 
exclaimed, "for the king has just sent a 
message to say that he must have chicken 
broth for his dinner/ ' Opening the window, 
he stretched out his arm, caught Medio 
Pollito, and popped him into the broth pot 
that was standing near the fire. 

Oh! how wet and clammy the water felt 
as it went over Medio Pollito's head, making 
his feathers cling to him. 

"Water! water!" he cried in his despair, 
"do have pity upon me, and do not wet me 
like this." 

"Ah! Medio Pollito," replied the water, 
"you would not help me when I was a little 
stream away in the field. Now I cannot 
help you." 

Then the fire began to burn and scald 
Medio Pollito, and he danced and hopped 
from one side of the pot to the other, trying 
to get away from the heat and crying out in 
pain: 

"Fire! fire! do not scorch me like this; 
you can't think how it hurts." 

"Ah! Medio Pollito," answered the fire, 
"you would not help me when I was dying 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 217 

away in the wood. Now I cannot help 
you." 

At last, just when the pain was so great 
that Medio Pollito thought he must die, the 
cook lifted up the lid of the pot to see if the 
broth was ready for the king's dinner. 

"Look here!" he cried in horror, "this 
chicken is quite useless. It is burned to a 
cinder. I can't send it up to the royal 
table." And, opening the window, he threw 
Medio Pollito out into the street. But the 
wind caught him up and whirled him through 
the air so quickly that Medio Pollito could 
scarcely breathe, and his heart beat against 
his side till he thought it would break. 

"Oh, wind!" at last he gasped out, "if 
you hurry me along like this you will kill me. 
Do let me rest a moment, or — " 

But he was so breathless that he could not 
finish his sentence. 

"Ah! Medio Pollito," replied the wind, 
"when I was caught in the branches of the 
chestnut tree you would not help me. So 
now I cannot help you." 

And he swirled Medio Pollito over the 
roofs of the houses till they reached the 



218 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

highest church in the town, and there he left 

him, fastened to the top of the steeple. 

And there stands Medio Pollito to this day. 

And if you go to Madrid and walk through 

the streets till you come to the highest church, 

you will see Medio Pollito perched on his one 

leg on the steeple, with his one wing drooping 

at his side, and gazing sadly out of his one 

eye over the town. 

Adapted. 

THE DISCONTENTED TREE 
A little tree stood in the midst of a forest. 
Instead of leaves, it was covered with fine, 
sharp needles, which pricked the fingers if 
one sought to gather them. 

One day the little tree said, in a complain- 
ing way, "All of my comrades have beautiful 
leaves, and I have only needles. No one 
comes near me; all pass me by. If I could 
have my wish, I would have leaves of pure 
gold." " 

When night came the little tree slept. On 
waking early in the morning, behold, it was 
clad in leaves of shining gold! Oh, what a 
splendid appearance it made! How it glis- 
tened in the sun! 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 219 

Then the little tree said: " Now I am proud. 
No other tree in the wood has golden leaves. " 

But as evening drew nigh an old man, with 
a long beard, came walking through the 
wood, carrying a heavy sack on his shoul- 
ders. When he saw the tree, with its 
brilliant, glittering foliage, he quickly plucked 
the golden leaves, one by one, thrust them 
into his sack, and hastened away, leaving the 
tree empty and shorn. Then the poor little 
tree was overcome with grief and vexation. 

"The golden leaves have only been a 
trouble to me. How ashamed I shall be 
before the other trees! If I could only have 
another wish, I would wish for leaves of pure 
glass." 

The little tree slept again; and again, on 
waking, behold, another surprise! All the 
branches were filled with lovely glass leaves! 
How they danced in the sunbeams! 

"Ah!" said the little tree, "now I am 
happy! No tree in the woods glitters as I 
do!" 

But soon there arose a great storm; with a 
mighty wind, which came rushing through 
the forest, and when it had passed, there lay 



220 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

the glass leaves shattered and broken upon the 
grass. 

Then the little tree said, sorrowfully: 
"See, now, there lie my beautiful leaves in 
the dust, and the other trees with their green 
leaves stand unharmed! If I could wish, I 
would have green leaves. " 

Again the tree slept, and in the morning 
it was clothed in green. 

Then the little tree laughed aloud and 
said: "Now I have leaves like the others, 
and have no cause for shame!" 

There came along just then an old goat, 
looking for food for her young. She saw the 
little tree, and in a twinkling stripped it of 
all its leaves. 

Once more the poor little tree stood for- 
lorn, with its empty branches, and said: 
"I will wish for no more leaves, neither 
green, yellow, nor red. If I had only my 
needles back, I would not complain." 

Sorrowfully the little tree went to sleep, 
and sorrowfully it waked. Then it saw itself 
in the bright sunshine, and laughed, and 
laughed, and all the trees laughed with it; 
for in one night it had received again all its 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 221 

needles. Now at last it was content, and 
indulged no longer in foolish wishes. 

THE THREE LITTLE CHRISTMAS 
TREES THAT GREW ON THE HILL 1 

Once there were three fir trees growing on 
a hill. One was tall and beautiful, with wide 
branches; the second tree was not quite so 
tall, but it was growing larger every day; 
the third was only a little tree, but it was 
sturdy and strong, and it hoped some day 
to be as tall as its brothers. 

The summer had gone and the maples and 
oaks and birches had lost their leaves long 
ago. Now the ground was white with snow 
and the fir trees were hoping that Santa 
Claus would soon come and take them away 
to be Christmas trees. 

One day a little bird came hopping and 
fluttering along over the snow, for it had 
hurt its wing and could not fly. " Oh, please, 
big fir tree," said the little bird, "may I 
rest here in your branches? I am very tired, 
and I 'm afraid I shall freeze out here in the 
snow." 

1 From " The Three Little Christmas Trees" by Mary McDowell^ 



222 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

"No," said the fir tree, "I can't have 
any little birds in my branches. I am going 
to be a Christmas tree." And it drew its 
branches proudly away from the shivering 
little bird. 

The little bird hopped away to the second 
tree and said: "Oh, please, dear tree, may I 
rest in your branches? My wing is hurt. 
I cannot fly, and I have come a long way 
over the snow." 

"No," said the tree, "I cannot have any 
little birds in my branches. I am going to 
be a Christmas tree." 

So the little bird hopped away very slowly 
to the smallest tree. It was almost afraid to 
ask again, but the night was coming, so the 
little bird said very softly, "Please, little tree, 
may I rest in your branches? I am so cold 
and tired, I don't think I can go any farther." 

"Oh, yes," said the little tree, "creep up 
here close to my trunk and I will cover you 
as best I can with my branches. I am so glad 
to have you here." 

The little tree stood straight and still in 
the moonlight, trying its best to shield the 
little bird from the wind, 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 223 

Far away came the sound of silvery bells, 
which grew nearer and nearer until there 
came into view a sleigh drawn by reindeer. 
Straight up the hill it came, past the two 
big trees and on till it came to where the 
little tree stood. Out jumped the driver, 
all clad in fur. "This is the most beautiful 
tree in all the wood," said he. "I must 
have it for my Christmas tree," and he took 
it up gently, so that not even the little bird 
was wakened. 

"And this little bird will be some little 
child's Christmas present." 

And into his sleigh he jumped and away 
they flew over the sparkling snow. 

Adapted. 

THE SNOW BIRD'S SONG 

The ground was all covered with snow one 

day, 
And two little sisters were busy at play, 
When a snow bird was sitting close by on a 

tree, 
And merrily singing his chick-a-de-dee, 
Chick-a-de-dee, chick-a-de-dee, 
And merrily singing his chick-a-de-dee. 






224 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

He had not been singing his tune very long 

Ere Emily heard him, so loud was his song; 

"Oh, sister, look out of the window," said she; 

"Here's a dear little bird singing chick-a-de- 
dee, 
Chick-a-de-dee, chick-a-de-dee, 
And merrily singing his chick-a-de-dee. 

"Oh, mother, do get him some stockings and 

shoes, 
And a nice little frock, and a hat, if he choose ; 
I wish he 'd come into the parlor and see 
How warm we would make him, poor chick- 
a-de-dee, 
Chick-a-de-dee, chick-a-de-dee, 
And merrily singing his chick-a-de-dee." 

" There is One, my dear child, though I cannot 

tell who, 
Has clothed me already, and warm enough too. 
Good morning! Oh, who are as happy aswe?" 
And away he went singing his chick-a-de-dee, 
Chick-a-de-dee, chick-a-de-dee, 
And away he went singing his chick-a- 
de-dee. 

F. C. Woodworth. 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 225 

THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS 

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all 

through the house 
Not a creature was stirring — not even a mouse ; 
The stockings were hung by the chimney with 

care, 
In the hope that St. Nicholas soon would be 

there. 
The children were nestled all snug in their 

beds, 
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their 

heads ; 



And Mamma in her kerchief, and I in my cap, 
Had just settled our brains for a long winters 

nap; 
When out on the lawn there arose such a 

clatter, 
I sprang from the bed to see what was the 

matter. 
Away to the window I flew like a flash, 
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. 

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen 
snow 

15 



226 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

Gave the luster of midday to objects below — 
When what to my wondering eyes should 

appear 
But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny rein- 
deer, 
With a little old driver, so lively and quick, 
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. 

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, 
And he whistled and shouted and called them 

by name : 
"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer! 

now, Vixen! 
On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Dunder and 

Blixen ! 
To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall! 
Now, dash away ! dash away ! dash away all ! ' ' 

As dry leaves before the wild hurricane fly, 
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to 

the sky, 
So up to the housetop the coursers they flew, 
With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas 

too. 
And then in a twinkling I heard on the roof 
The prancing and pawing of each tiny hoof. 



THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 227 

As I drew in my head, and was turning 

around, 
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with 

a bound. 
He was dressed all in fur from his head to his 

foot, 
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes 

and soot; 
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, 
And he looked like a peddler just opening 

his pack. 

His eyes — how they twinkled! his dimples — 

how merry ! 
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a 

cherry; 
His droll little mouth was drawn up in a bow, 
And his beard on his chin was as white as 

the snow; 
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, 
And the smoke, it encircled his head like a 

wreath. 

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old 

elf, 
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of 

myself. 



228 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head 
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to 
dread. 

He spoke not a word, but went straight to 

his work, 
And filled all the stockings — then turned with 

a jerk; 
And laying his finger aside of his nose, 
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose. 

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a 

whistle, 
And away they all flew like the down of a 

thistle; 
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out 

of sight : 
" Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good 

night !" 

Clement C. Moore. 



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THE MOTHER GOOSE SERIES 

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Four full page colored pictures to each book, and innumer- 
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Another set of fairy tales full of charm and originality, six 
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Illustrated with eight full pages in color by Maginel Wright 
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Size 8vo (For children under twelve) Price $1.25 

THE LITTLE KING AND PRINCESS TRUE 

By Mrs. A. S. Hardy, author of "The Hall of Shells", and 
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Size 8vo (For children under twelve) Price $1.25 

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CHICAGO NEW YORK 



M ^___^____ - ^^^_ 



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OTHER RHYMES FOR LITTLE READERS 

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THE RHYMING RING 

Louise Ayres Garnett 

Illustrated in colors and black and white 
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Large quarto (For children under twelve) $1.25 

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Robert Browning 
Illustrated in colors by Hope Dunlap 

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Large quarto (For children under twelve) $1.25 

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CHICAGO NEW YORK 



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